


Ever Apart, Together In Spirit

by InquisitiveEnigma, Pebble



Category: Dragon Age (Tabletop RPG), Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 100k in and we're only in the Hinterlands jfc, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cassandra and her impulsive need to punch smartasses in the face, Drunken Shenanigans, Enigma just derailed one of the romances but it feels good, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Flemeth shenanigans, Gen, Genderbending, Interrogation, Lowkey Incompetent Heroes, Matchmaking, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Friends in Thedas, Multi, Prophetic Visions, Rating May Change, References galore, Singing, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Taking the Dread Wolf's name in vain, Yeah those will be handled well by these idiots, dark shit coming to a fanfic near you, liberties taken with magic, lots of singing, specifically:, tags are always gonna be a chapter or two ahead so keep an eye out, thank Mythal for betas, that semi graphic violence is coming into play now, we respond to comments every week!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-29 19:55:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 106,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20802077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InquisitiveEnigma/pseuds/InquisitiveEnigma, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pebble/pseuds/Pebble
Summary: A Qunari, a Dwarf, and an Elf walk into a tavern; Just yesterday they were all humans and settled down to play some tabletop Dragon Age with a mysterious lady. There was also four of them, not three.What the fuck happened to him?!Modern buddies drunkenly stumble through Thedas in the bodies of their original RPG characters, and boy did they not think a lot of things through. Vashoth, casteless, warden, and a former-slave? They should've made themselves rich immortal kings, but hey, they didn't know this would happen![Updates SOMETIMES! Pebble can't keep a schedule anymore. Also, shoutout to Dragon Age Transcripts on Tumblr for their incredibly detailed transcripts ofInquisition.]





	1. Before the Beginning (Can't Believe It's Not Thedas)

“Welcome, welcome,” the great Dungeon Master says, Myth’s husky voice ringing out to four souls gathered around a weary dining table. Amber lightbulbs illuminate _ Dragon Age: Roleplaying Game _ books and printed papers stacked and scattered across the wooden surface. Plastic bags of flavoured chips, bottles of fizzy soda, unlit candles, and a small, Bluetooth speaker sit in the center of the table, where medieval music plays softly beneath her honeyed words. 

The young man seated around the corner to her right is grinning, his elbows pressed to the table and penning in a small pile of elaborate black dice. Light reflects off his glasses as he turns his head her way, offering a deferential nod to the white-haired woman. He’s younger than she is, scruffy and blonde, tall and pale, bony and wearing a nice watch, an insane genius and occasionally a total bitch. Zander has carefully crafted a character sheet for this first meeting, eager to make an impression of being an unstoppable megalomaniac as his three friends know him to be. His usual partner in crime sits next to him, where they can most easily find a chance to scheme.

Said partner is another young man, this one sitting taller and keeping his hands folded in his lap. If he weren’t, he would fiddle with his several sets of dice and fill the air with their clattering rolls. Devan tries hiding his bubbling excitement, eager to make a softer impression than Zander. With fuzzy dark hair and hazel eyes, being so blessed by unsuppressed Viking genes that he’s a 6’5” brick wall standing, it can take time for a new acquaintance to recognize he’s truly a gentle giant. His character, however, is planned to be far more destructive.

Kiera is on Devan’s right, stretching her arms above her head, rolling her neck and shifting a thick, black braid over her shoulder. She’s paying attention, but her temples throb with the echoes of shrill children’s voices; her dojo had swarmed with new students that had been learning their first self-defense moves, by practicing on _ her _. Kiera is strong enough to take it; a black woman younger and shorter than the two men in the room, but twice as strong. Her muscles are just barely disguised by a soft layer of flesh that gives her lovely curves, but a completely invisible, more pernicious weapon is her singing voice. The character Kiera’s made for Thedas is not the subtle danger of a siren, but a beautiful powerhouse with brutal grace.

The line of players ends, but one more is seated around the corner from Kiera. The side of the rectangular table opposite the trio is pressed to a wall and forces the fourth player to be across from Myth, and not her friends. She picked that position out of habit, and now feels anxious facing a stranger.

Gad is the smallest of everyone; petite, olive-skinned, brunette, short-haired, and absolutely neurotic. She has a velvet red pouch of a dozen sets of dice in front of her and noisily picks through them with obsessive attention. She means well, and hears Myth’s greeting, but struggles to make contact with the Dungeon Master’s piercing gold eyes. Gad matches the intelligence of the others in the room but applies herself oddly and impulsively. Being forgetful, kind, and having a lackadaisical way of managing her health, she frequently finds her friends bullying her into remaining sane and living as she “does her own thing.” Her character will prove her strengths as an attentive support-caster. Dependable, but still a bit of a wildcard.

“You have all prepared yourselves?” The woman leading the room smiles enigmatically and gestures with an arm wrapped in gold and leather bracelets, beads tapping on the table’s edge. Four people nod at her question, and her smile remains unchanging. “Then, ‘tis time for introductions to be made.”

“Julia Galus,” Zander begins, lifting a detailed sheet and reading from it. “Female human mage. Specialization, Rift Mage. First level.”

“Background?” Myth croons.

“Disgraced noble.” Zander grins and does as his friends expect, and tests her will for any hint of give. “The books allows for you to play as a protagonist from the video games, and I choose to be the Hero of Ferelden.” A big demand, but necessary in his eyes. Dungeon Masters need a backbone, or the players will get away with things they shouldn’t.

“The Warden,” humming in apparent thought, Myth’s dark brows raise up. “Your last name should be Amell,” she says, less sweet now.

“Maybe I changed it, avoiding any attention from my fame,” he quips back with a sly smile, pre-determining this to be the last time he’ll prod at her.

Myth breathes out her nose, and relents, “The state of the world will be unchanged.” It’s a fair compromise, and Zander nods to accept it. He sets his paper down, finished with his turn. Only last week Zander completed the first video game _ Origins _ , minus the DLC. He plans to borrow _ Awakening _ from Kiera, still feeling a deep attachment to the Warden he played. The decisions he’d made weren’t the best they could have been though, so he was more than fine with Myth overruling what they were in this case.

With a little trepidation following Zander’s lead, Devan clears his throat and pulls up his own sheet, “Berengar Badulf, or Kelaca Dovish.”

“Or?”

“I know I want to be a dwarf, probably casteless, but I can’t decide what gender,” he admits, feeling embarrassed. Everything else he ironed out with Kiera’s help, but this little detail stumped him. His skin feels hot, prone to blushing a violent shade of red. To abate any teasing from the players beside him, he removes his jacket and steels his nerves.

Myth smiles again, the tension on her face melting away, “_ From large to small. _” She speaks warmly to him and proposes a solution. “‘Tis a world of fantasy and magic, mayhaps you’re both man and woman, physically.”

Devan’s eyes go wide, and then he lights up with excitement, “Oh, yeah I didn’t think about that.”

“Your name, then?” Myth asks.

“Kelaca. I’m a warrior, Templar.” If he couldn’t be a mage by nature, a sad thing not to be magical, then he’d enjoy being the bane of mages. Devan has only played the beginning of the first game, and it wasn’t either of the Dwarven origins. He’s spent more time playing the _ Mass Effect _ series, avoiding the trouble of juggling two Bioware playthroughs at once.

“Wonderful.” Her hawk-like gaze turns to Keira, and they wear near-matching smiles.

“Oh,” Kiera’s pretty voice gleans her excitement, and as she leans forward to rest her breasts on the table, she braces herself with her forearms. “I’m a Qunari woman, born Vashoth. A mage specializing as an Arcane Warrior, because that’s badass.” Kiera doesn’t even look at her character sheet, knowing the build by heart. She knows the most lore of all the players; a veteran of all three games, romancer of many, a master of damage-heavy mage builds, owner of the comic books, and a big fan of _ Dragon Age _ as a whole. She helped everyone create their characters with the guidance of her wisdom and sass. 

Myth chuckles, tipping her head back and crossing her arms over her chest, “Indeed.”

Batting her lashes, feeling quite proud, Kiera completes her introduction, “My name is Hissera Kata. In Qunlat, it means-”

“_ The end of hope _,” Myth finishes for her.

“Yes,” Kiera grins, and then everyone’s attention sweeps to the final player.

“And you?” Myth addresses Gad, and the girl anxiously locks her shoulders in place.

Gad takes too long to speak, pretending to shuffle her book and papers around to find the right sheet, acting more scattered than she truly is. It’s a self-defense mechanism Gad pulls out when she’s intimidated, to appear harmless and as little of a threat as possible. Her mind races beneath the thrum of _ Sera’s Song _ from the speaker she brought to this meeting. There’s something about the woman across from her that’s _ otherworldly _ and commanding. How could she be the only one to feel it? 

When she finally lifts her head, her dark eyes lock with Myth’s golden ones, and her blood stops pumping. Gad feels transparent, and she fights her dangerous _ fight-or-flight _ reaction until she’s as still as stone. 

Kiera, who had been humming along to the music, stops to nudge the girl around the table from her. “Hey,” she says, “It’s your turn, pay attention.”

Gad laughs nervously, back into her hapless guise, “Oh, didn’t realize. Sorry guys!” It’s just her. If she called this off, grabbed her things and left right now, her friends wouldn’t understand why. Taking a slow, deep breath, she decides she’s being weird.

Zander turns to the Dungeon Master, “Gad spaces out a lot, just a heads up.”

“I can see when she listens,” Myth says, and Gad ignores another alarming buzz in her veins. 

_ Man, this woman is intimidating! _

Gad pulls out the correct paper, and another she’s attached to it. She hands the smaller one across the table, offering it to Myth. She almost expects to be shocked when older fingers pinch the opposite corner of the paper, but it passes uneventfully into the woman’s hands. Myth’s eyes rake over the basic outline of a human body, with red lines drawn up the limbs, torso, neck, and face. The design is simple and symmetrical, with thorn-like protrusions along the appendages, and trident shapes on the palms and turned sideways over the cheeks. Small dots are placed a tiny space away from the prongs, like beauty marks. Gad spent days on the design, with many recycled scraps until she settled for this.

“Name, Satina. I want to be an ex-slave elf from Tevinter,” she says bravely, while Myth’s eyes still study her basic drawing. She printed the outline of the body off the internet, far from good enough to make it herself. “A Shapeshifter mage.”

“And these markings?” Mercifully, Myth does not look up as she speaks.

“Well, Danarius couldn’t be the only Magister to experiment on his slaves.”

Keira snorts, “Yeah, no way he is.”

“But these aren’t lyrium tattoos, they’re like blood tattoos?” Gad’s voice creaks, she worries she’s asking for something silly. “Instead of ink, it’s enchanted blood.”

“Blood of the Magister?” Myth asks, and Gad shakes her head no.

“Uhm,” she gets quieter with each word, “Old God blood?” She sits up and speaks louder, “Or just dragon blood! I want to pretend I can be a dragon, like Flemeth.”

Now Myth grins, raising her head and staring Gad in the eyes, “Oh I think you can have an Old God’s blood, it should be interesting.” The paper is returned to the player, who smiles like the sun and feels her fear slip away. Gad played eighty-percent of the first game, zero of the second, and one-hundred and ten of the third. A lot of her obscure Thedas knowledge came from the tapestry, wiki pages, and Kiera, but she loved everything she learned.

The Dungeon Master’s gaze swept over the other players, “Your appearances, I assume you’ve detailed them on your papers?” When each of them nods, she asks Zander to turn out the lights. He pushes his chair away from the table with a stuttering creak, crossing the room to flick the light switch off. The warm amber hue disappears and leaves a curtained window close to him as the only source of illumination. It’s meager but enough to let him navigate back to his seat. Anticipation builds in everyone, the music purely instrumental and providing no distraction from the woman’s gravelly voice. “Is each of you ready?” 

They feel compelled to reply.

“Bring it.” Zander, challenging.

“Yeah!” Devan, excited.

“Hell yes.” Kiera, passionate. 

“Ready.” Gad, determined.

She raises a hand and snaps her fingers, the candles on the table alighting in an instant. The fire creates a wicked gleam in her eyes, and all at once four mortals realize that not one of them has met her before today. Myth laughs aloud, and their breath catches, hearts race-

_ “Your adventure begins.” _

-everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two is already up! Go ahead and meet their new faces!


	2. Clear Skies, New Faces (Who are we?!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The surprises begin!

It isn’t birdsong, sunlight, or shouting that awakens Gad. 

“Fucking freezing,” she mutters, reaching out blindly for her watermelon blanket. Her fingers grasp something and she tugs it around her, like a cocoon. A strange and foreboding dream slowly escapes the focus of her mind, feeling groggy and slightly nauseous. She’s not surprised, her weak body is almost always in a state of discomfort, but the cold is more annoying. 

Stubbornly holding her eyes shut against soft sunlight from her curtains, a thought occurs to her. Autumn had started rolling in the low temperatures, and she turned the heat on yesterday, so  _ what the fuck _ . Eventually, she thinks too much to relax and drift back off, and she flings her blanket off and opens her eyes. 

Then screams.

_ I’m outside, outside in the snow. Not my bedroom. Not my house, not even my yard! _  
Almost immediately she scrambles backward on her ass, taking in deep, quick breaths and looking around her. Big, tall fir trees; she backs into one, her spine knocking into the trunk painfully. She grunts, rapidly flicking her gaze from left to right and stopping suddenly on the bodies of two people, both partially covered in white. Not enough to be buried or totally blanketed, but the snow is shaped around them.

__

“Ohhh god, what the fuck,” she groans, and a new panic settles within her.  _ That-  _ “This isn’t my voice.” It’s too pretty, too melodic and even, like how she wishes her own was. 

Now she takes in what little of herself she can, ignoring but not forgetting the two unconscious figures nearby. Brown leather boots, slightly damp on the outside from where she kicked at the snow beneath her. White woolen leggings in a vertically knitted pattern, and a faded black tunic. What she thought was a blanket she finds is attached to her, a cloak the same colour as the boots she’s wearing. They’re not her boots, none of these are hers. Gad owns tunics for larping, but they’re all striped and colourful, and her boots are all black. From staring down at her clothes, she notices streaks of red on her cheeks, and scrunches her nose and squints. 

_ Is that blood? _  
In vain, she tips her head back to get a better look until her skull taps against the tree behind her. That at least keeps her head stable as she lifts her hand, but the discoveries keep piling the fuck up. Her hand isn’t the right colour. It’s the same hue, but a darker shade. More ethnic and tan, like the Mediterranian people she shares some ancestry with. 

Gad swallows, nervously moving her hand around, seeing new lines, different callouses, and rubs her fingertips together to feel skin softer than her own had been. There’s a red line up her inner arm coming from the sleeve of her tunic, and a trident shape on her palm with small dots near the tips. “Oh fuck me,” she says, and resumes the path of her hand to her face, at her own will. She tugs at her cheek, the same new colour and smattered with freckles, and can barely make out the shape of a stripe or two by wiggling her face around awkwardly. The lines should meet near her ears and go over them, then along her hairline towards the back of her neck. There’s one pointed line crossed under the bottom of her eyes, another sliced over her cheek towards her lips, and the third follows the shape of her jaw. She knows this because she  _ made _ the design. “ _ Oh fuck me _ ,” she says again, and moves to her knees. She crawls across the ground to the still unconscious figures, but by size alone, she can guess what they are. A qunari and a dwarf. 

Taking a deep breath, Gad places her brand new right hand on the shoulder of the qunari lying face down in the snow, her left hand pressed to her chest and feeling her heart pound. “ALRIGHT, WAKE THE FUCK UP!” She loses her cool, the shock wearing off and she needs her friends to freak the hell out alongside her.

The first to awaken is naturally the person closest to her, the qunari that Gad shakes as hard as she can. “ _ Let me sleep _ ,” An unfamiliar voice grumbles, annoyed, and therefore familiar by nature.

“Bitch,  _ wake up _ ,” Gad says sharply, and when the bronze-skinned qunari rolls over, outstretching arms almost knock her down.

A strong, utterly  _ gorgeous _ face turns her way, and blood-coloured eyes glare at Gad petulantly, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Your worst nightmare-” Gad swallows again, waving her hands towards her own face, “Just kidding, it’s your idiot friend.”

“Which idiot friend?” The qunari snorts.

“Gadiel,” she huffs.

The qunari blinks, scrunching up her attractive features and pushing herself up to sit in a way that’s natural for her size. “Uhm. What the fuck?”

“Yeah.”

Now Gad watches as Kiera in the body of Hissera rises to her feet to do a similar check of herself. Her hands and arms, toned with thick muscle, decorated by sparse scars. Her clothes; dark leather pants tucked into black boots that climb up her legs, stopping just beneath her knees, bracers on her forearms, and a sleeveless black tunic. She looks badass, long black hair trailing down her back in a waterfall of tiny braids. There may be no horns on her head, but she’s undeniably a massive qunari woman.    


“Fuck, I’m tall!” Kiera looks back to face Gad, who stands up in front of her and finds herself barely reaching Kiera’s breasts.

“Fucking huge.” Gad agrees.

Both of them are loud enough that their third companion finally manages to rouse themselves from unconsciousness, rolling off their side into the shade of a great fir tree.  _ Gad’s new therapy tree. _ Devan attempts to pull himself up to stand in a haze of being only half-awake, and shockingly finds himself far, far shorter than he remembers. He moves his body instinctively, like he’s always been a little shortstack and nothing else. He begins patting himself down, finding short arms, short legs, but firm muscles and a pair of breasts on his chest. He closes his small hands over them and gives an experimental squeeze, which is precisely when his friends turn to face him.

“ _ Awe! _ ” Kiera squeals, “You’re adorable! But Tiny, please wait until later to play with yourself!” 

Gad snorts and bends over, hugging her stomach and fully laughing when the little dwarf lady turns a bright shade of red. “Sweet Baby Jesus, he still blushes!” 

Devan waves his- her- his? arms, strutting up to close the distance between the three of them and immediately regretting it. His neck cranes uncomfortably to look up at them. His movements and reflexes are natural, but his habits aren’t. There’s going to be a learning curve, he realizes.

“Alright, listen,” as soon as he speaks, his two friends start  _ cooing _ , because he sounds just sweet and feminine. “Oh my fucking god,” he whines, “Will you two stop!”

“No way!” Gad shouts, laughing almost hysterically now, “We’re in motherfucking Thedas!” Her panic is slowly seeping back in because this is apparently real, and every one of her senses is working better than they ever did before. Especially her hearing, it’s weird.

“Yes, but fucking  _ how?! _ ” Kiera reasonably begins to freak out as well, crossing her arms as a way of grounding herself. Her head dips when she speaks, looking down toward her friends, now in magical fantasy bodies and not their own. The very last thing she remembered was Myth being all creepy and… She answers her own question. Suddenly Kiera throws up her arms and puts her hands on her head, “ _ Motherfucking Mythal! _ ”

Gad shrieks oddly, making noises instead of saying words, and Devan quirks a brow as he stops playing with his fluffy white hair. “Who?”

“A mostly dead ancient ‘Elvhen Goddess’. She enjoys doing things that confuse everyone around her that tend to pay off for her in the future. Don’t worry about it. Or do. Because we’re in fucking Theadas who knows fucking when or where.” The loremaster breathes out her nose and shuts her eyes for a heartbeat, tense as hell as she recalls every detail of the older woman that offered to be their Dungeon Master.  _ Those golden eyes, that old Shakespearean speech pattern, it screams Flemeth.  _ Why hadn’t she noticed it then?

“ _ O _ kay,” Devan says, unable to grasp the magnitude of Mythal’s influence from so little. This isn’t the time to explain it more thoroughly though, all of them ought to be in the moment. He picks at his own dark purple tunic, meant to reflect his violet eyes, a choice he made for his character on a whim of pure  _ flavour-text _ . How often did the appearance you made for a game matter beyond gender or species?

Gad is quiet, looking back and forth in their surroundings and noticing a distinct lack of their fourth friend or his character. “Hey, where the hell is Zander?” 

“Oh shit.” Devan quickly breathes and takes a few steps around the area while Kiera’s mind continues to race about the events before this.

“He pissed her off,” she says, recalling the way her idiot cousin had arrogantly made a point of demanding that he be given a challenge. “Fucking Zan, he’s probably somewhere way more dangerous, or just far ass away.”

“So,” Gad starts pacing, her boots scuffing up snow in her agitated state. “So we’re our characters. I’m Satina, you’re both Hissera,” she looks at Kiera, then Devan, “-and Kelaca.” She has her hands pressed together and up by her mouth, almost like she’s praying, but despite taking many names in vain she’s not the religious type. None of them are. “Does this mean we’re doing some campaign she created or did she just use that excuse to throw us into Thedas?”

Kiera rolls her neck, an action familiar to her previous body, “Well if it’s a campaign, then we know what she’s expecting from us.” A new voice, but the same inflections, the same rises and falls, the same musical lilts. They didn’t  _ become _ their characters, it’s likely they’ve only been transmogrified into them; otherwise they wouldn’t remember who they really are. But then why aren’t they struggling with the changes in size to their bodies? Why don’t they feel  _ off _ like this?

“We do?” Devan asks, returning to stand near his friends, but a little farther away so his neck isn’t straining.

“We do,” Kiera nods, “This was set for us to become Inquisition agents, so we join the Inquisition.” That meant they did know  _ when _ in Thedas they were. At least in the ballpark of 9:41 Dragon.

“Oh, cool! You guys know what happens, so we should be pretty good, right?” Devan optimistically raises his hands above his head, already feeling excitement build up inside him. His hands curl into fists, a grin pulling on his soft new features. A casteless brand is made in black ink on his right cheek, something he had no idea he would need for his character and therefore a  _ gift _ from Mythal.

“Probably. As long as nothing changes.” Kiera says as she matches his grin. “Zander might suffer, but we can use the Inquisition to look for him.” She swings her head toward Gad, who panicked the most out of everyone and still looks stressed out. “C’mon Gaddi, we might get to meet  _ Varric _ .”

“Holy fucking shit-fuck,” Gad gasps and finally drops her arms, eyes that are silver and bright going wide. “They’re all real now! We’re- we’re in  _ Thedas! _ ” She squeals and actually jumps up in exhilaration. She grabs her friends by the shoulders, awkwardly holding one arm high and resting the other down at her hips, where Devan’s shoulders are. “We better make a plan, like, right now.”

“Yeah,” the qunari places a large hand on Gad’s thin shoulder. “First we should figure out where we are.”

  
  


The gang takes an hour to decide what direction to head first, then form the marching order of Kiera in the lead, Gad in the middle, and Devan taking up the rear. It’s purely from their old habits, which fails them within ten minutes of walking. When everyone expected Gad to need a break for her health, Devan suddenly cried out for a halt.

“I feel like I’m going crazy!” The feminine voice still takes a moment to register in Kiera and Gad’s minds as their formerly large, male friend.

“Are you getting tired?” Kiera asks him, and he shakes his head.

“I’m keeping up, it isn’t hard,” he bites a pink lip, something he never used to do before today. “I’m just not used to being so small, everything is freaking  _ huge _ now.”

“Oh, shit,” Gad doesn’t know what to say. She tries to joke, “What’s the weather like down there?”

“Ha ha,” Devan flatly replies, but genuinely looks a little less wound up. 

Kiera can relate to how he feels; she’s suddenly closer to seven feet tall instead of five. While nothing feels strange about the way she moves, her mind isn’t easily adjusting. When she looks at her friends she angles her head down and feels the weight of hair longer, thicker, and heavier than hers was without extensions. Back in the grove when they formed a plan, she ran her bronze fingers through the braids and across her scalp. Nowhere did she feel a point of attachment for extensions. Her hair was real, and even being tightly braided the black curtain draped down over the curve of her toned buttocks. She knew her shit and it  _ had _ to take a whole day to do the work that went into this style. It’s nice to reap the benefits of looking great without any effort on her part while she can; eventually, she’ll need to unbraid it all. Then fix it up somehow. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Tiny,” she addresses Devan by his now amusing nickname, jumping into the conversation. “Why is your hair white?”

The dwarf looks up at her, unnaturally purple eyes meeting her stare, “I didn’t really care what colour it was, I wrote ‘whatever’ on my sheet.”

Kiera snickers, “You let Mythal pick your hair colour!”

“I-I didn’t  _ know _ it would matter,” he stutters, a pouting forming on his cute face. Really, he’d been pretty ambiguous about all his character traits outside of his combat build, which for the moment was utterly useless. None of them had weapons outside a basic dagger on each of them. Kiera’s had been in a sheath she found wedged between her breasts, Gad’s in her left boot, and Devan’s attached to his belt. 

_ “Am I fucking left-handed now?” Gad asked, finding the knife on the opposite side of her body she expected. She turned the blade in her right hand and the grip felt ungainly in what she thought was her dominant. Passing it to the left was immediately more natural. Gad flipped the blade up and caught it, much to the alarm of her friends.  _

_ “How’d you do that?” Devan asked the girl he remembered to be clumsy and frequently fumbling and dropping her cellphone.  _

_ “I just.. Did?” That prompted an entirely new priority in everyone, and was the real reason it took an hour for them to leave their ‘spawn point.’ By the time they left, they each had discovered unique and previously unknown talents when handling daggers.  _

_ Kiera had proved able to catch a dagger in her teeth. _

_ Gad demonstrated incredible throwing aim but got jumpy when she held a knife. That’s how Kiera learned her new skill. _

_ Devan meanwhile, found himself flicking his blade between his hands in a flash like a born street-urchin. _

_ “Why can we do this now?” The dwarf sounded more anxious to his friends than he really was, his friends trying to adjust to his higher-pitched voice.  _

_ “Maybe because we’re our characters?” Kiera supposed, tucking her knife back into her sheath and pinching her tunic between large fingers. There wasn’t anything else down her shirt, but the sight of hefty bronze breasts in a well-stitched band made her pause thoughtfully. She hadn’t included that  _ or _ specified a breast-sheath in the description of her basic attire. What else could have been added? _

_ Her hands dug into the pockets of her leather pants and turned them out, a white lump of silky fabric in her left palm. She brought the thing into both hands and pulled it apart to inspect it; immediately she recognized that she held a pair of lacy panties far too small to fit her new body. Her brows lifted and she smirked, questioning in her mind whose they might be. _

** _Margot Barthélemy_**  
_ The name echoed in Kiera’s thoughts, and instantly she felt kind of miffed. The fuck was that about? _

_ Devan suddenly pointed up at her, interrupting her thoughts. “Uh, whose are those?” His voice squeaked, an embarrassed red covering his cheeks. _

_ “It’s… complicated,” Kiera said, stuffing the easily-assumed trophy back into her pocket. She looked down at her friend and rolled her shoulders back. “Anything on you?” _

_ “Yeah!” He grinned and presented a rock in both his little hands, veined with some kind of pretty blue quartz- _

_ “Is that lyrium?!” Both Kiera and Gad shouted, and a nug closeby dove straight into its burrow. _

_ Devan closed his hands around the small lump laced with glowing DANGER and looked personally offended. “You don’t need to shout at me!” He whined and moved to wrap it up in a cloth until it was acceptably cushioned. With a pout, he twisted his upper body to place the stone back inside its container and latched it shut, where it would be safer for everyone. _

_ He found it in a modest tin box fixed to his belt, nestled in a well-worn handkerchief. Fairly, Devan thought he should look at it, but he remembered what he’d been told about lyrium when he picked the Templar specialization. It was incredibly unstable, likely to explode, super addictive, and magic-boosting. Or something. _

_ “Why do you have that?” Gad asked, slightly horrified. _

_ “Well what are  _ you _ carrying?” Devan crossed his arms, spreading his feet apart in a stance that would have been far more intimidating in his old body.  _

_ The tanned girl smiled cheerily and produced a glass vial, thin and only two inches long. She discovered it in a pouch sewn into the underside of her cloak, almost unnoticeable and surprisingly undamaged by all the scrambling on the ground she did earlier. “I think it’s a health potion?” It was sealed with white wax and filled halfway with a scarlet liquid, but Gad wasn’t sure and knew better than to check. This wasn’t the appropriate time to tear something open and drink a foreign mixture. _

_ Devan’s face scrunched up, “Shouldn’t we know everything about our characters? Our inventory? Our skills?” _

_ Kiera hummed with a trace of agitation, going on for him, “Our pasts?” _

_ “Mythal must have filled in the blanks,” Gad said plainly, the vial slipped back into its place, “-or taken some liberties.” _

Liberties indeed. Devan’s hair was as white as the snow and he had a new tattoo. There could be a thousand things they didn’t know they were capable of, and things they used to excel at that they might struggle with now. Life was suddenly a big fucking mystery box of ‘who the fuck am I?’

“Aw, Dev,” Gad tries to cheer up the flustered shortstack, “Don’t worry, you’re so little no one’ll notice.”

“Want me to start telling elf jokes?”

“Why would you tell-” Her eyes go big again, and her hands slap onto the sides of her head, feeling pointed ears. She shrieks and it’s from a combination of excitement and the toll of the emotional rollercoaster everyone’s been riding. “I’m a motherfucking elf!” Gad squeals again, happily bouncing on her toes. 

“You  _ forgot? _ ” Kiera asks, sounding both amused and judgmental. “You chose your race yourself, we all did, Gaddi.”

“I can’t believe it, Ki! Holy shit!” The definitely elven girl doesn’t quite listen, “God, that explains why my hearing is off the charts!” She swipes messy hair out of her face and pauses, “Wait, should I be saying ‘Maker’?” 

Kiera shrugs her broad shoulders, wisely remarking, “Who gives a shit? I don’t think we’ll blend with the locals one way or another.” 

Devan laughs, feeling that fear bubble away when his friends go back and forth for a while. The trio resumes walking down their path, now side by side, and he listens while they exchange comments about their appearances; sharing black hair, Gad’s short and feathery in the back and Kiera’s neat and intimidating; sporting different skin colours and changed eyes. Their conversation sparks a new thought in Devan’s head, and smiling sheepishly, he calls to his friends.

“Guys, be honest,” they look his way, and he strikes a pose with one hand on his hip, the other a fist in the air. “Do I look like an anime character?”

Gad giggles, looking over her friend and nodding affirmatively. They all may be in a fantasy world, their bodies totally different and everything they know changing by the minute, but there’s no doubt that they’re still themselves beneath it all. A group of huge fucking dorks.

  
  


The party continues their long slog through the woods for nearly half an hour when suddenly a strong, chilling wind whips up and hits them all in the face as they emerge from the treeline. They come to a vast, snow-covered clearing, bare of a single tree and at last granting them some perspective on their whereabouts. Beyond their position a lake shines, frozen across and bled into by waterfall made of ice. As expected, there’s more snow in every direction they look, marking up the rocky slopes of mountains on each horizon. The skies are clear, the weather forgiving, but it’s too cold for anything to thaw; their elevation must be high.

Kiera’s greater stride lets her trek a few yards ahead of the others, allowing them to follow more easily behind her through the endless snowdrift. She quickly spots the glimmer of iron against an outcrop of stone, but close inspection proves it isn’t something she can just pluck out like in the video game. She needs a hammer or pickaxe to smash it out, which none of them carried. 

“Disappointing, but it makes more sense,” she sighs emphatically, turning away from the nearest mountain and narrowing her dark red eyes against blaring sunlight. Far off to the right, there’s a glint from a frozen lake that she raises her hand to block. Left of the lake and just over a cluster of treetops, she makes out the shape of walls built interchanging of stone and wood. Kiera knows Haven’s walls are made of layered cobble and stripped logs. With the snow, the mountains, the lake, and Mythal’s intention of their party joining the Inquisition, she would be willing to gamble on labeling their location.

Where the hell in Thedas were snowy mountains except the  _ Frostbacks _ ? What one fucking known settlement was in the Frostbacks?  _ Haven.  _

“Sweet sweet, pre-Coryphyshit Haven,” she smirks as Devan and Gad finally hike up to her place up the mountainside.

Gad turns and looks, then nudges Kiera roughly with her elbow, “Hey, correct me if I’m wrong, but there’s no big glowy Breach in the sky.” There clearly wasn’t, so Gad went on. “If that’s Haven, intact, then either the Breach was just sealed and we need to haul ass..”

“Or the Breach hasn’t happened yet,” Kiera finishes, then groans aloud. “ _ Fen’Harel’s fucking hairy ballsac. _ ” 

This was going to be a complete clusterfuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first 20k has already been written, expect Chapter 3 on next Wednesday!


	3. Steady Perceptions, Simple Perils (Beg For Mercy, Jim)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!! Thank you so much for 14 kudos, 66 hits, and three lovely comments!! ;D

"_Ohhh, what do we do with a drunken sailor-_" Gad wasn’t an awful singer when she tried, but in her book, you weren’t supposed to try with tavern songs and sea shanties. 

Devan had enthusiastically joined in with her bellowing, creating a harmony by sheer dumb luck. "_-what do we do with a drunken sailor, early in the mornin’!_" The chorus led to problems.

“Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver!”  
“Throw him the brig until he’s sober- wait, Gad, no.” 

“Oh, my bad, guess we know different versions.”

“I like hers better,” Kiera laughs, jerking a thumb in the elf’s direction, trekking down a humble dirt path the gang stumbled upon after a half-hour of traveling. She was mostly certain they were West of Haven, from the position of the lake being to the right of Haven at their abandoned vantage point. That hopefully meant this was the path that would soon take them past the cabin of a healer that the future Inquisitor would be looting after the Conclave blows up.

Plenty of grim ideas were seeping into the minds of Gad and Kiera, who knew all too well what was to come and what was already taking place across Thedas. There were a lot of people suffering from disease, demons, war, and other bullshit, from Crestwood, Emprise du Lion, the Exalted Plains, to the Hinterlands. Neither of them could imagine the hell that unnamed places and little nondescript villages would soon be going through, skipped over between each of the major locations of _Dragon Age: Inquisition._ Perhaps they were protected and saved by the supposed grand forces the Inquisition would gradually build, or actually just left to burn. 

The Conclave alone was- _will?_ be a terrible tragedy, where many die an agonizing death in a raw, magical explosion. Even Devan, knowing so little about the Dragon Age series, had seen Kiera play the beginning of the game. He knows how it begins, with death and confusion and fear. He already feels a sickness in his gut from recalling the menu screen and watching a glimpse of the destruction. 

Gad and Kiera feel nothing; no ill churning in their stomachs, no mourning, no hopelessness for something they likely can’t do anything to prevent. Yeah, it sucks that all those supposedly good people would die, but they didn’t know anyone that would be there. It was practical rationality that kept their minds clear as their feet plodded along towards Haven, where hope would be born in the face of that tragedy.

Tentatively Keira starts to sing, hoping to brighten their journey and steal the strain from the faces of her friends, less confident with her new voice.  
_“I am the firebird!”_  
_“I am his daughter!”_  
_“I am the firebird’s child!”_

She carries the melody alone, bringing out her new range with growing enthusiasm. Her hips swing in an imitation of dance as they walk closer and closer to Haven.  
_“I am the firebird!”_  
_“I am his daughter!”_  
_“And like the flame, I am wild wild wild wild-”_  
_“WILD!”_

Her passion bolsters their stride, and the budding ache in their feet seems to disappear with every chord she cries. Devan hums as low as he’s able with his feminine voice, supporting Kiera’s tune as a soprano and not the bass he was before.  
_“I am the firebird!”_  
_“I am his daughter!”_  
_“I am the firebird’s child!”_

Kiera calls louder, her vocal cords thrumming as the world is led by her power. Gad laughs merrily and rushes ahead, tipping herself into a cartwheel with energy and grace she hasn’t had since she was a child.  
_“I am a firebird, the boldest song you've ever heard!”_  
_“Join in the dance, and make it wild, wild, wild!”_  
_“Join in the dance and make it wild!”_

Each of them feels renewed, reborn like phoenixes; firebirds unleashed upon Thedas.

Song brings the party all the way down the path until the trees thin out to nothingness for as far as the eye can see, and they spot a gathering of tents, campfires scattered all around. Pilgrims, templars, or rebel mages; all surrounding the grand walls of Haven.

“Fucking finally,” Gad says. She turns to her companions, suddenly severe, “You remember our story?”

“Obviously,” Kiera replies while Devan nods quickly.

“Pretty sure. If I forget, I’ll say I don’t want to talk about it.” He remembers the background his two friends ironed out back in the clearing after they searched their pockets for belongings.

_“Assuming Mythal didn’t phase us into existence and our actual backgrounds are legitimate,” Kiera mused, her back against a tree with her arms crossed under her breasts, “-then we’re covered if anyone looks into who we are.” It was pretty quickly agreed that they should pretend to be their characters and not shout about their otherworldly origins._

_“What about when we’re asked how we met?” Gad squirmed in place beside Devan on a frozen log, the snow brushed off to make room for their butts. She’s worried about this, and rightfully so. If they join the Inquisition even at the lowest of levels, Leliana might dig for information and any wrong answers could lead to… bad things. _

_Kiera scrunched up her face and frowned. That could be tricky to explain._

_Devan tried to help, adorably raising his hand with a suggestion, “Maybe just from traveling?”_

_Gad lifted her arms into a big ‘x’ and clicked her tongue. “Not good enough, pal.”_

_“Then we’re mercenaries?”_

_“Yeah? What group? Who’ve we done work for?”_

_Devan whimpered, “Alright! We started as drinking buddies!”_

_Kiera snapped her fingers and pointed at the dwarf. “That’s not bad.”_

_“But where?” Gad asked, compulsively fiddling with her uneven hair._

_“Let’s think about it. You’re supposed to be from Tevinter, Gad, and where do all escaped slaves go?” Kiera started smirking, proudly resting her fist against her cheek._

_“Ooh,” Gad’s eyes sparkled, “Kirkwall?”_

_“Hey!” Devan chimed in, eager to be included in their scheming. “That’s where the second game takes place, right?”_

_Kiera nodded, “Right, and I know it well enough to teach you guys about the important details.”_

_A groan escaped the elven girl then, always the overthinker. “But why were you two there?”_

_“I think we’ll worry about that later, Gaddi, we should probably move while the sun’s up.” Once again, Kiera’s rationality shelved the anxiety of her friends._

Their story wasn’t much, but it would work wonders to ward off any mildly curious folk and gave them a bit of confidence. All three of them could handle improvisation; table-top games kind of sucked if you couldn’t think on the fly. More than anything, they just had to remember to mention the new details to one another. 

Fluffing up her coal-black hair for luck, Gad was the first to step down the dirt path towards Haven. Her friends following behind her, the path quickly widens into a modest road, the tracks of wagons beginning to show in the ground and deepening the closer they edge to all the people milling around the area. Her ears pick up the distant murmurs of their voices, overlapping sounds of laughter, prayers, and arguing. When the gang crosses the first scattered line of tents, Gad tugs her cloak firmly around her body. 

She expected them to receive some odd looks; a bronze, hornless qunari woman; a white-haired, purple-eyed dwarf; a tattooed and tan elf. By themselves, they might just catch some glances, but almost immediately all of them are followed by lingering stares because they walk together. 

"_Shit, fuck, balls,_" Gad mutters through her teeth, slowing her steps to slip back between her friends instead of in front of them. She doesn’t want to lead and garner extra attention, that would fucking suck.

As the tallest and most beautiful, Kiera’s the most observed and she braves it with a growing urge to hit something. She _feels_ a few eyes rake over her ass and thighs, and her teeth audibly grind as she tightens her jaw. This isn’t the time to shout anything snarky or aggressive. People in Thedas aren’t terribly kind to the minorities, and she’s lived her life with plenty of experience with that already. "_I blame Fen’Harel and his dog-brain,_" she quietly growls and hears Gad snort.

Devan self-consciously rubs his hands over his arms, brushing away goosebumps and keeping his eyes straight ahead. Being so tiny, he sticks as close as he’s able as they weave through crowds both big and small. He spots mostly humans, many wearing simple clothes and idling or performing tasks like cooking and washing clothes. The majority of people here are getting along, but he doesn’t miss the tension and resentment on the faces of some of the folk just sitting around. 

There’s supposed to be fighting between mages and templars, and the Conclave is meant to be peace talks. Innocent people don’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire of a battle that isn’t theirs, and many of those gathered here must be waiting to see if the Divine’s intentions will yield any results. His gut sours when he remembers how it’s doomed to end, and in his distracted state, he doesn’t sense the impact coming.  
Devan is suddenly thrown off his feet, rolling off a yard ahead and stopping on his back. A great big brown mastiff hovers over him, drooling and quickly bearing smelly kisses down on his face. “No, stop it!” He shouts, bringing up his little arms and trying to move his attacker’s snout away. He likes dogs, but he’s never been pinned by one before. “Off!” He barks at the dog and is surprised when it listens, backing away and standing happily by his feet.

“Shit!” By the time Devan sits up, a young human man with a ponytail and a crooked nose runs over and drops to his knees. The stranger wraps his arms around the dog, face turning red as he speaks to it sternly, “Beggar! Not every dwarf is Erigran!” The hound turns its head, then dips it low, whimpering in a way that Devan swears sounds disappointed. 

Gad is laughing nearby, bent over and burying herself in her knees while Kiera approaches with a smirk on her lips. “What’s going on?” She asks, but the answer is rather obvious.

The human looks up at her and swallows, suddenly feeling incredibly embarrassed. Three beautiful women are watching him, and one got knocked over by his dog. “Uh, Beggar, he was bred by a friend of mine, he’s a dwarf and-” his ears turn red as the hound licks his stubbly jaw when his name is spoken. “-And I think we both… miss him.” His response feels lame to him and it shows on his face, and the qunari can’t resist easy prey.

“Aw, your mabari likes dwarves!” She croons, but her grin turns wolfish as the young man ducks his head into ‘Beggar’s’ back.

“Yeah, he does,” they all hear him say, and Devan finally stands after wiping his face clean with his sleeve.

“A mabari?” He asks, having misidentified the breed in his head. He really didn’t get very far in the first game at all, or he would probably be more fond of the dog by default.

The owner raises his head and nods, moving to scratch the underside of Beggar’s neck softly, “You’ve never seen one before? Ferelden folk love them more than any other creature! Orlesians boast about lions and fancy shit, but these dogs are smarter than them.”

Having recovered from her fit of mirth, Gad chimes in, “The lions or the Orlesians?”

She receives a snort, and the stranger drawls with a smile, “The Orlesians, obviously.” His eyes are a wicked shade of green, and there’s something charming about the scruff on his face and how open he is to their bizarre group.

Kiera observes what Gad’s amusement distracts her from, and much more cooly, she fixes the human with a hard stare. “Mabari are smart enough to know when someone is a stranger.” He stills, and the realization dawns on Kiera’s companions.

“You sent your dog after me?” Devan asks, crossing his arms and feeling a foreign instinct to palm his dagger. He shivers and the feeling is gone, but not forgotten.

“I-” Whatever excuse the man could make dies instantly, and he looks at the dwarven lady with shame. “Yes, I did.”

“What’s your name?” Devan asks him, pulling authority into his tone and becoming more accustomed to the feminine sound. 

“Jim, Jim Defforth.” The guilty party doesn’t make a move to flee, and somehow Devan knows that Jim isn’t staying put from stupidity. He’s owning up to what he’s done, and that, Devan can respect.

“Well Jim,” Devan goes on, “Tell me why you made Beggar send me tumbling, and I might forgive you.” Gad and Kiera stand beside him, looking intimidating and protective while he appears merciful; a classic move to gain ground in a confrontation is to be the good guy- _or girl_ in the room.

Jim sits back on his ankles, kneeling and at the same eye-level as the person he’s wronged, only two feet apart. “Honestly?” He starts, his voice cracking a bit, “I just wanted ‘n excuse to say hello.”

Devan’s violet eyes betray his surprise and widen, but then he laughs and the sound is lovely to his own ears, “Do you even have a dwarf friend?”

“Er, no,” Jim admits, smiling toothily with his eyes pinch, embarrassed again. “Made that up on the spot. Beggar was supposed to just act like he likes you.”

“Oh I think Beggar likes her a _lot_,” Kiera snickers, her suspicions easing up. _Really, who would lie about something so awkward, at their own expense?_

Devan steps up to the dog, holding out his small hand to be sniffed. “I believe you,” he says to the human, firmly staring into Beggar’s eyes and establishing a dominant role. “Shitty people don’t have nice dogs.” Beggars barks, agreeing, and Devan smiles.

“Jim,” just as he was about to relax, Gad speaks to him, her voice even. The elf’s body is still hidden by her cloak, implying that she could be carrying a weapon somewhere. Silver eyes bear down on Jim, and he’s struck in awe by the odd mien of her group. 

“Yes?”

She tilts her head towards the walls of Haven, “Are they letting people inside?” Gad could say it in more words or be more humble, but there’s a piece inside of her that feels guarded and she feeds it.

Jim nods his head and stands up, taller than her but still much shorter than the qunari in their party. “Not much point going in though, I can’t think you’d want to see the Chantry.”

Gad hums and a twinkle enters her eyes, lips curling wryly; a confident persona slipping into place. “You’re right, _we want drinks._”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait to post next week, this fic is a lot of fun to write!


	4. True Names (Do we thank or curse Mythal?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow!!! 28 kudos, 134 hits?! The numbers doubled from last week!  
I'm so happy people are enjoying this so far!

_ "Ughhh _ , this tastes like Fen’Harel’s week-old jizz.” Kiera groans, dropping her head to the table after tasting the fermented piss sold in Haven.

“Fen’Harel?” Devan inquires, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the swill in his cup, “You said that name earlier, Hissera. Who is that?” All of them are sitting at a table reminiscent of those in cafeterias back on earth, but made of hand-carved wood and not some kind of metal or plastic.

Kiera snickers, tipping her head to the side to give  _ The Look _ to her elven friend, Gad, “Don’t worry. You’ll meet him later, I just want to see if I can make him blush.”

Gad giggles and leans back on the bench a dangerous amount, her ankles locked around a table leg. She’s seated across from her two friends, surprising them with the way she downs the burning liquor with ease. “I’d like to see him blush.” 

Kiera wiggles her eyebrows at Gad, “I just bet you would.”

Devan slowly turns his flagon around in his small hands until the amber liquid looks appealing again, then brings it up to his lips and swallows a hearty gulp. All of them are feeling a little eager for joking around; ever since they met Jim, things had gotten weirder.

_ Jim stood and offered his hand to the tiny slip of an elf, “May I bring you to the tavern, Miss?” _

_ Gad reached out to take his hand, her fingers slender and dainty in his larger human grip. “G-” her throat closed for a second, and her eyes widened. Her name didn’t come out. “Good to meet you,” she recovered, forcing a brighter smile on her face. “I’m called Satina.” _

_ Inside, she was screaming.  _ What the fuck?!

_ Her friends blinked when she introduced herself by her character’s name, wondering if she was purposefully making things harder for herself. Then came their turns, and they understood. _

_ Devan nodded his head at Jim when he moved to greet the dwarf properly. Wow, his hand was  _ tiny _ in this guy’s!  _

_ “I am sorry about Beggar,” Jim began, smiling earnestly with a gap tooth Devan hadn’t noticed before, “-we both know better now.” _

_ “You’re forgiven,” Devan lilted kindly, pulling the taller man down by his arm so he was yanked to his knees again. _

** _Strength of a Warrior_ **

_ Jim stared in surprise when the little lady put their free hand on his shoulder and grinned dangerously. Devan was going to have a lot of fun with that. _

_ “My name is D-” His tongue tingled, drying up and he had to move his hand back to his mouth in a fist. He coughed, “Sorry, damn this cold weather.” Jim chuckled sheepishly, and Devan pulled from his character sheet, “Dovish, Kelaca Dovish.” _

_ “Hello, Kelaca,” Jim shook his hand, and Beggar suddenly pushed them apart and knocked his owner onto his back. The mabari licked Jim all over his face, and barked once as if telling him;  _ See? Was that so hard?

_ Kiera was last but not least, her brows raised at her friends’ odd behavior. She sculpted her strong features into something both elegant and wild. Her scarlet eyes were narrowed and vibrant, her pinkish lips easily molded into an enigmatic smile. Mythal would be proud. “Jim, we would like it if you brought us to the tavern, but we wouldn’t mind if Beggar did it for you.” _

_ Jim laughed, “He could, but he might not come back for me!” Beggar let out a bark, denying it. He received an affectionate scratch beneath his chin as Jim wiggled backward to sit up on the dirt. “What’s your name, Miss? I’ve genuinely got some qunari friends in the Valo-Kas…” He trailed off and gave her a careful look, but kept smiling. “Hope you’re not in the Qun, no offense.” _

_ “Never have been,” she replied, and Kiera rolled back her shoulders when an odd feeling of  _ I’ve said that before _ climbed up her back.  _ What the hell? _ “My name is Ki-” A horrible taste filled her mouth, she nearly gagged. “Kind of-” she forced the disgust off her face, hoping that Jim attributed her reaction to something about her last answer, “-contradictory. In short, it means ‘Hope’ in Qunlat.” It meant more than that, but she was too preoccupied to elaborate. _

_ Jim said nothing at first, but prompted her when she paused, “Don’t know any Qunlat.” _

_ “Hissera Kata.” Kiera finished, and each member of the party felt more than a little violated. There must be some kind of compulsion on all of them. _

_ The human brought himself back up to his feet and brushed his fingers over the hair that got loose from his ponytail after his dog knocked him over. Jim was kind, average, awkward, but clever. “I’ll happily take you through the gates then, Hissera Kata, Kalaca Dovish, and Satina.”  _

The day was going for a long, long time and yet somehow every second felt too quick for any of the three to hold onto. Mythal really threw them for a fucking loop with all the surprises she slipped in. Each of them took a chance to call their friends by their real name once they were inside Haven, and found that they couldn’t even do that anymore.  _ More drinks were necessary _ , they all agreed on that when their first cups ran dry.

“Soooo..” Kiera… now Hissera drawls, her bronze skin looking golden in the tavern’s torchlight. “I guess our old names are off the table. At least I chose one I liked.”

Kelaca squirms in his seat, a tipsy dusting of pink on his soft face. “I’m not sure how comfortable I am with all this. I look like a woman now!”

“You could bind like Krem!” Satina offers up cheerfully, “And you know we’ll support you however you choose to identify!”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to you all calling me she?” Kelaca squeaks, a small embarrassed blush dusting her cheeks. Biting her lip, Kelaca slams her tankard down on the table, eager to pretend she’s red from the alcohol alone. “Time for more ale, I think?”

“Flissa!” Satina called, waving wildly in a fashion that was either a remnant of her previous habits or a sign that she was a massive lightweight.

The barkeep smiles with only a hint of strain, feeling busy as any can be. There wasn’t a single server under hire in her tavern yet. Leliana really ought to get on that; the poor lady was going to drop after the Breach made this place the most popular spot in the region.

Luckily, the trio had already discovered enough coin in Kelaca’s pockets to buy several rounds and a meal for each of them.

_ The guards were surprisingly lenient, and let the gang inside of Haven after just a cursory check for weapons. “No magic,” they warned, and abruptly both Hissera and Satina remembered that they were supposed to be mages. Neither of them _ ** _ felt _ ** _ magic. _

_ Jim led the ladies towards the right; which from the memory of the  _ Inquisition _ players, was the correct direction. When over a minute of walking passed and they didn’t see Seggrit’s crappy shop, it dawned on them both that Haven could be much, much bigger in reality.  _

_ The game had to be limited; it couldn’t make a location they planned to scrap be completely spectacular, and a lot of what was in a small city was going to get in the way of a player’s efficiency for exploration and gearing up. _

_ Hissera realized she hadn’t spotted the stables outside the walls or Harrit’s forge. Was anything where she thought it should be? _

_ Finally, the gruff and obnoxious voice of an NPC she recognized was heard a couple of yards ahead. Seggrit was harping about prices with a man in mage’s robes, he himself wearing just the clothes he wore in the game. Practical, but kind of ugly. Jim actually donned a similar coat, and Hissera wondered if she didn’t feel the cold because she wasn’t human. _

_“For the last time, I’m not lowering my price, kid.”_  
_“But you’re no mage! How many others do you think will come by for business?”_  
_“Look, this is the only staff I’ve got and I know what it’s worth. Come back when you’ve got more coin.”_  


_ A staff? _

_ Hissera and Sati’s heads swerved that way; Seggrit held a modest wooden staff with a red crystal bound to one end in leather cords.  _ Fire-based _ , they knew instinctively. _

_“A whole sovereign!” The mage cried, aghast. “Too much for that thing!”_  
_“You don’t want it then? Alright, move on.”_  
_“I- ugh, you win!” The mage dug into a pouch on his belt, “You’re robbing people with these prices, sir.”_  
_“Well I’m the only one selling anything around here, go ahead and shout if you find any competitors.”_  


_ All of the party had paused to watch the exchange without realizing it. Jim patiently waited and crouched beside Beggar, murmuring something the girls didn’t hear.  _

_ Seggrit had his arms crossed, the staff gripped in one hand as he stood his ground. The nameless young mage pulled out a shiny gold coin and slapped it onto the table between them with a loud clunk. Three pairs of eyes studied the coin from across the path, a few people passing by but giving all of them enough time to see it. _

** _Sovereigns. Silvers. Bits._ **

_ Suddenly the currency of Thedas was burned into their minds. They understood how it worked and felt a big ol’ disappointment sink into their guts; back in the woods, all the coin they found on them was seven silvers and forty bits. Not a single sovereign. The exchange rate was a hundred bits to a silver, a hundred silvers to a sovereign.  _

_ Well, shit. _

The party had enough to get by, and they all sent Mythal a big mental prayer of  _ thank you _ when they stepped into the  _ Singing Maiden _ and saw a wooden board on a wall painted by hand with the names of items and their prices. 

_ “Oh thank fuck,” Sati mumbled, “We can read.” _

_ “Thank fuck we can eat,” Hissera corrected her. “I’m fucking starving.” _

_ “Same.” Kelaca sighed, the day well past noon and nothing in their guts but anxiety. _

Twenty minutes and farewell to Jim later, and they were eagerly drinking away their dread. Coping with all this magical bullshit was immediately an easier process with Thedosian ale in their full bellies.

Feeling a buzz slowly warming their new bodies, all of them began listening to the chatter throughout the tavern. Sati has the most luck, with her elven hearing she casually relays everything she catches to her companions, not even bothering to look around the room. To anyone curious, she would hopefully look engrossed in conversation with her companions.

“Don’t try the rye bread, it’s crap.”  
“The Divine is getting old and-  _ that’s rude _ .”  
“Is anything going to get done? Fighting’s getting worse, but nobody wants to fight.”  
“Who’re those girls over there, the big one is like a shining beautiful goddess of war-”   


Hissera raises a brow and stops her, “You’re making that one up.”

“Maybe,” Satina cheeks, “-but it’s totally true.” A couple of minutes pass between her gulps of ale and Kelaca chiming in about how she thinks she could pickpocket somebody.

“I keep looking around,” the dwarf says, “-and every time I see coins on the tables or somebody’s purse, I get these ideas. Good ones.”

Hissera thoughtfully rests her jaw in her hand, her elbow digging into the table they’ve got to themselves. “When we’re almost broke, let’s give that a shot.” A minstrel plays her lute in a forlorn tune without any words, not anything Hissera recognizes from the game. It’s kind of disappointing, but Sati distracts her with a slurring declaration of gossip.

“Something something nugshit,” she says, “Ah, the Conclave is set to begin tomorrow.”

“That’s important.” Hissera decides immediately that tomorrow must be when shit will go down, and they ought to stay  _ far the hell away _ from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Everything will start sucking and get so much more intense and real as soon as Fen’Harel’s magic orb nukes the mountainside; a sobering thought she quickly drowns by chugging her fourth mug of ale.

“Mmmhm,” Sati helpfully summarizes, on her fourth-  _ fifth? _ Cup. She’s drunk, and Kelaca more so, but she’s had half the alcohol the elf has. She used to be a powerhouse that could down a whole bottle and then  _ start _ to feel it hit her, now she’s pacing herself with little gulps and the room is swimming. She taps her fingers idly on the wood until it begins to sound like a familiar rhythm.

A grin is on her precious face and dilated purple eyes sparkle in the firelight.   
_"Hey ho! To the bottle, I go-”_  
_“To heal my heart and drown my woe!”_  


Satina laughs, slumping onto the table as Hissera enthusiastically joins her in the tavern shanty.  
_“Rain may fall-”_  
_“And wind may blow-”_  
_“But there still be many miles to go!”_  


All of them sing the final chorus, drawing attention as they merrily raise their flagons and cheer.  
_“Sweet is the sound of the pouring rain-”_  
_“And the stream that falls from hill to plain-”_  


Kelaca takes a deep breath and prepares to shout the final stanza with gusto.   
_“Better than rain or a rippling brook,-” _  
_“Is a mug of beer inside this Took!”_  


As soon as she finishes, a look of shock overtakes her cute features. “There’s no hobbitses!”

Drunken giggling takes hold of the party as a couple of the tavern’s patrons whistle and hoot in general approval. When the next round of drinks reaches their table, Sati coos up at Flissa with a dreamy expression.

“You’re an  _ angel _ ,” there’s only a tiny silver ring around her pupils, a heady warmth in her chest that makes everything feel gooey and soft. When she looks at the kindly human woman, she discovers something new. “Ah! Bothh of you are!” 

Flissa gives her a worried smile, and her airy voice barely reaches the elven girl. “Perhaps that’s the last one for you then.” Sati awkwardly waves her off and drags the flagon across the table to her lips. She stares rather blankly at her friends and gulps it all down slowly without a break.

In their own little world, Hissera and Kelaca begin a sloppy argument about their tolerance and how it  _ most certainly has not changed, thank you. _

“Ah can still drink you under th’ table,” Kelaca insists, sticking out her tongue at the much larger qunari woman. “Who! Cares! If’n you’re th’ big one now!” To prove some kind of point, she lifts a mug in both hands and tips it back. She swallows as much as she can, but ale streaks down her chin and drips messily onto her tunic.

Hissera snorts, then breaks into a cackle as she claps the dwarf on the back, very nearly knocking the mug out of Kelaca’s grasp. “You’re so  _ cute! _ ” As Hissera snickers, she clumsily maneuvers her legs under the table and her feet stick out over the other bench, where Sati offers her ankle an affectionate pat. Everything the bronze woman has had to drink was disgusting and weak; she doesn’t understand how her friends are so wasted!

Kelaca hiccups when she speaks, putting her cup down with half of her drink left. She blinks many times, her eyes unfocused and looking at her hands. “I’m stho  _ little _ .” Hissera laughs again, dropping herself over the table and burying her giggles in her bigger arms. With her friends too distracted to notice, Sati wordlessly grabs Keleca’s mug and takes it for herself, finishing the ale with a drowsy hum.

Both Kelaca and Hissera rouse themselves just in time to see Sati pinch her eyes and one of her pointy ears  _ twitch. _

“Holy shit, they move!” Hissera’s cackling again, and the elf awkwardly slaps a hand onto Hissera’s mouth, looking annoyed.

“Shhhh!” Sati slurs the simple warning, and her eyes flick off to her right, both her ears lifting just the smallest amount. How did neither of her friends notice they could do that before now?  _ Are they imagining it? _

“The wardenssss is ‘ere.”

That’s a sobering thought, but words alone don’t magic the alcohol out of someone’s blood-  _ is there a magic that can do that? _

Hissera shakes her head and tries her damndest to focus. “ _ Here _ here?” She asks, and when Sati shakes her head, Hissera pulls her legs back under the table. “Where?”

“Conc,” Sati slurs thickly, reaching up and ruffling her hair as her agitation increases. Stuff feels fucking hard to do now! “Conclave. Temply place!” Suddenly she throws her arms over the table and grips at her friends’ hands. “We should go!”

A grin takes over Hissera’s face and she nods, untangling herself from her seat and following Sati’s example by pounding a fist on the table. “ _ Ow-! _ Fuck yes!” She stands tall and grabs Kelaca’s small shoulder.

Kelaca turns around, eagerly wiggling so that she was facing her qunari friend completely. “Wer going sum lace?” On an impulse, Hissera wraps the dwarf into her arms and roughly sweeps her off the bench. She places Kelaca down on the stone floor and points a finger at Satina.

“Come on bitch, we’re going hiking!” Hissera’s more enthusiastic than ever, and with a laugh the elf stands and rolls herself across the table, knocking over their empty cups. She perks up with a surprising moment of grace, next to her companions and ready for action.

“Yessir!” She slurs, then giggles.

They rally quite quickly, confusing a few nearby patrons, but no one stops them from making for the door. Their tab was paid in advance with two silvers, Flissa well-tipped by whatever remained after their drinking binge. 

Kelaca tries to trail after her taller friends, but abruptly finds herself lying upon the floor, her elbows throbbing and the world spinning. “Whoa!”

Hissera quickly whips around and gasps in a dramatic fashion, immediately crouching down and snatching Kelaca by the scruff of her tunic. “You need to stay up!” Hissera shouts, smiling in amusement as she gets the white-haired girl back on her feet.

“Riiight!” Kelaca sounds in awe, like she’s learning something new because of Hissera’s great wisdom. She takes another step forward and falls back down with a dizzy wobble. Snorting at the pathetic state Kelaca’s in, Hissera lifts her off her feet and tosses her over a shoulder. When the qunari stands, the dwarf squeals. “Whoooa!  _ Soooooo tallll." _

Sati is waiting by the open door, staring in confusion back at the duo she thought was right beside her. “Guuuuuuuys! Lesgo!”

From there on their trek out of Haven is uneventful, but their drunken stumbling and swaying doesn’t go unnoticed by any that cross their path. Far be it to not mention the intoxicated giggling that accompanies every other step towards the mountain. There’s helpful little signs and soldiers posted along the trail to the Temple of Sacred Shushes; and when the sun begins to set over the crest of a gorgeous mountaintop that won’t be there after tomorrow, the party reaches a familiar landmark.

_ "The Bridge _ ,” Sati gasps ominously, then twirls around on her feet as they cross the doomed structure. The cutscene dictated a very specific moment it would collapse from a personal  _ fuck you _ from the sky, and both Sati and Hissera remember that well. 

Hissera tiptoes and shuffles along, testing the stone beneath her feet before nodding suddenly. “It’s safe!” They continue along, unhindered by the growing chill in the air and a distinct lack of demons that aren’t here yet.

The winding path guides them to their destination flawlessly, the only troubles are their own heavy feet and the rapidly growing darkness. The stairs suck immensely, but Hissera carries her friends up the icy steps with ease and Sati follows like a baby duck, holding tightly to the end of the qunari’s black tunic.

A few pilgrims and templars they pass laugh and offer kind warnings of caution when they pass the opposite way, all humans carrying torches and presumably deciding that the trio is totally harmless.

Kelaca watches their journey backwards; seeing Haven get further away and much smaller as the others climb up the mountain for her. In her mild boredom, she begins to sing.  
_“Wha’d you do with a drunken saailor?”_  
_“What d’you do w’ a drinking dwarf?”_  
_“Throw ‘er on your should’! Until! She’s soober!”_  


When all of them come upon the grand, venerable building with so much history and significance, not one is in the state of mind to stop and admire it while they can. Hissera and Sati stumble into the nave and see shiny, dark wooden benches and the weight of their first day in Thedas finally exhausts them. They lay down and fall into a deep, inebriated slumber.

The three of them became their characters, hiked through the woods, found Haven, met Jim, drank themselves into a stupor, and conquered a mountain like goddamn heroes. Their reward is a dreamless rest, piled together in the temple and wearing matching grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I hope the shift in names wasn't too confusing! Kelaca has chosen to use female pronouns from now on as well!  
Kiera = Hissera Kata  
Gad = Satina  
Devan = Kelaca Dovish


	5. The Game Begins (chains are KINKY)

Hissera awoke in darkness with violent pounding in her skull reminiscent of war drums. Her eyes open slowly as she shifts, learning that she slept slumped against a wall and her head hanging down by her left shoulder. She lifts her head and receives a horrible pinch in her neck as a reward, eliciting an annoyed grumble of _‘shit’_ from her lips. While she aches to roll out the locked muscles, a foreign instinct invades her senses and makes her alert. Her wrists are sitting in her lap and bound by chains, she feels the cold iron digging into her skin. _That’s a bad sign._

As still as she can hold herself up, Hissera turns her head, studying her surroundings and immediately noting that she’s not in the Temple of Sacred Ashes anymore. _Wait, fuck, I was at the Temple?_

Metal bars protrude from the floor only a few feet from where her knees dig uncomfortably into the ground, marking the boundary of her cell. Beyond the cage, the room is barely lit by two meager torches maybe twenty feet apart, on opposite sides of a vast environment. Her qunari eyes adjust rapidly, and it’s as if she’s outside in the sun for how vividly she sees the lines of stone brick and the iron walls of cells to her left and right. The torches are fixed to the outside of two of the cells, about five feet away from the actual stone walls that encapsulate this space. It’s chilly but not freezing, and she is not alone.

Hissera spots the pointed white spikes of hair that could belong to no one but Kelaca in the cell to her left. The dwarf is also bound, and peering closely she follows a line of chain from her cuffs and up to the wall behind them. Both of them are stuck to the wall, on the floor, and she’s totally hungover and just not in the _fucking mood._

Knowing she’s not locked in a dungeon alone makes this bearable, and allows her to cool her instincts and call to the dwarf to wake her. “Kels,” Hissera says, and luckily, Kelaca rouses quickly.

_“Nngh?”_ She can barely articulate as she tries to stretch, the chains clattering and tugging, her own body screaming in protest after being stock still for who knows how long. “‘Era?”

There’s noise far ahead of her, the sound of footsteps muffled by barrier, like a door. Hissera nudges Kelaca more roughly and growls, _“We’re in a dungeon, follow my lead.”_

Kelaca barely has time to register her instructions before a metal door screeches and swings wide open and she shuffles to sit straight. The light of a torch illuminates the soldier carrying it; one of the guards of Haven, wearing armor she recognizes from today- _yesterday? Fuck, how long has it been, and how did they get here?_

Behind the lone man is a set of stairs, and she hears his growl of disdain from across the room. He wears a helmet, but the jaw guard is missing and she sees a dark bushy beard when his head turns back to shout, “The prisoners are awake!” The soldier sounds hateful, and afraid.

_Prisoners?_ Kelaca wonders, and her gut churns sickly; nothing about her feels good, her eyes dry and her mouth drier, her hands sting with scrapes she doesn’t recall receiving. The last she remembers is the view of Haven from high up a mountain trail, then darkness. _Had they trespassed in the… where were they going? A temple?_

There’s a hefty clank of steel on stone, interrupting the dwarf’s train of thought. Who storms into view is a tall, human woman with tightly trimmed black hair and a scarred face wearing full plate armor. Upon her chest is a symbol Kelaca doesn’t recognize, a sword with what looks like a burning eye. Too gaudy to be a family crest, Kelaca decides it must be religious, and therefore a pissed off paladin is advancing down the stairs to unleash holy wrath upon them. The list of combat classes she saw in the RPG books didn’t include Paladins as a type of warrior, but guesses quickly there must be another name for it in Thedas. 

_Oh we totally desecrated that temple, didn’t we?_ Kelaca dreads the coming of someone Hissera identifies in a heartbeat. 

When Cassandra speaks she marches through the doorway, the door crashing shut behind her and the soldier following with his torch. “First, you will tell me who you are,” her voice is made of barely restrained rage and heavily accented, something vaguely Germanic to their ears. The qunari represses a gleeful smile and despite how totally fucked they are, it takes a lot of personal effort. _“Then, you will tell me why the Divine is dead.”_

Kelaca doesn’t know a lot about Thedas, but she knows that’s bad. Hissera’s command repeats in her mind and she stays quiet, her eyes cast low as the not-Paladin crosses the dungeon to their cells. The soldier follows in her wake, carrying a torch and his steps setting off a clink of keys on his belt. As the pair comes closer, the torch briefly highlights the figure of someone collapsed in the middle of the room. Leading to their body is a half-dozen chains bolted into the ground, but the light moves onward and their shape disappears. _It must be Sati,_ Kelaca realizes, and her heart starts pounding in her ears. Fury begins to burn in her veins; _no one can treat her fucking friends like that._

Hissera is fast to reply to their jailor, but she’s hardly diplomatic. “Why the fuck do you think we know anything about the Divine?!” What sounded like a terrible plan was honestly the best; playing dumb, because she _shouldn’t_ know why. 

Cassandra grits her teeth and it shows, her lips pulling into a snarl born from desperation and her passion. “The Conclave is destroyed, everyone is dead. _You three_ are the only survivors.” 

“Wrong place, wrong time. The worst luck.” Hissera snarks, smiling with pure petulance. Her head still thrums with a migraine that’s rapidly growing in the presence of some guy’s stupid torch.

The Seeker, amazingly, doesn’t demand Hissera’s head on a pike, but her gauntlets slam into the cell bars as she shouts at the qunari. _“You must know something!”_

“Khajiit is innocent of this crime!” Hissera cries, falsely sounding appalled. Closeby, Kelaca lets out a small snort, and Cassandra takes a step back to glare at her most vocal prisoner. Her fists are still wrapped around the iron bars, her arms stretching out from the distance she needs to bolster herself.

“You are called _Khajiit?_” She demands, every syllable she utters sounding rougher and angrier than before. The woman cannot take much more of Hissera’s chaotic retorts; this is a matter that calls for order and answers, not more confusion.

“No,” the bronze-skinned woman leans back against the wall, daring to cross her legs and assume a bored expression. “I’m called _hungover_ and you’re being very inconsiderate.” She boldly crosses her arms up behind her head, enough slack in her chains to allow the shift.

“You either do not understand the severity of your situation, or you have a desire for death,” Cassandra warns sharply, and Hissera huffs indignantly. It finally breaks Cassandra’s will, and she gestures to the soldier accompanying her, who eagerly produces the ring of keys on his belt and unlocks the quanari’s cell with one hand. The keys return to his belt in a swift movement, and he pulls open the cell door with a sneer on his face. He steps aside, and a woman made of faith and fire walks into Hissera’s cage. 

“So,” Hissera begins, shifting her hips and lifting her knees, one foot firmly planted on the stone and the other suspended up. She rocks her ankle playfully, and her voice exudes flirtation, “-do you want me to bend over so you can spank me? Or are you going to bend me over yourself?”

“You-!” Cassandra sounds disgusted, and in one short moment she grips Hissera by her tunic and _lifts_ her up from the ground. She’s human but far fucking stronger than she looks. “I will give you one last chance to admit your involvement! Tell me what happened at the Conclave!”

“We don’t know anything!” A higher voice shouts, and Hissera grits her teeth and snarls to keep Cassandra’s attention away from Kelaca.

_“Hey!”_ As antagonizing as she can be, Hissera makes a half-hearted show of struggling in her restraints. “I’m not saying _shit!_ We’re innocent of whatever the fuck you think is going on!”

Finally an answer Cassandra can understand, but not one she wants. The Seeker takes the bait, impulsive and predictable to someone who once romanced her in the game. “You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth,” … _bitch,_ Hissera wants to add, but decides she ought to avoid a blow from the Nevarran woman’s metal fists if she can help it. Cassandra still holds Hissera up from her knees, their brown and red eyes scowling back at one another. Neither will concede, neither will give ground, and neither is weaker than the other.

A strange _crackle_ breaks the tension in the air, audible and strange, the kind of noise that makes your hair stand on end and your instincts need to know the source. Hissera finally breaks their stare, but can’t see around or over Cassandra’s shoulders.

“The fuck was that?” She asks, although she is almost certain she knows. 

“Why is our friend out there?” Kelaca’s chains rattle when she brings herself to her knees, her light voice hardened by her protective constitution. She was once the largest of all her friends, and Sati the smallest and weakest. Nothing the Seeker says will abate the rage building inside Kelaca, but she demands to know all the same.

Cassandra pushes Hissera back down to the ground, shoving her and causing the qunari to smack her head against the wall. The impact does fucking _wonders_ for her hangover, putting stars in her vision and overwhelming her mind with pressure and pain. 

“Your _friend_ bears a mark of unknown magical origins, _and_ it is unstable.” The warrior backs out of Hissera’s cell, the soldier shutting and locking the door without needing instructions. Cassandra looks through the bars of Kelaca’s cage and narrows her eyes, her next words spoken with no guilt. “She is being kept unconscious until we can determine the nature of your connection to the Conclave.” Now that Kelaca had confirmed the three were companions Cassandra had ammunition for the Nightingale, whom Hissera suspects is either within the dungeon, or right outside the door.

“You’re _drugging her?!_” Kelaca screeches, suddenly feral and pulling her chains to their limits as she shoots to her feet and gets as close as she can to the not-Paladin. _Definitely not a Paladin! Paladins don’t fucking drug people!_

“Hey, those 'marks' are just tattoos!” Hissera shouts, annoyed and joining in her dwarven friend’s resistance. The two are bound by shackles they can’t break but are more than capable of pissing someone off enough to get them within choking range. Hissera knows the mark Cassandra mentioned must be _The Mark_ but at this moment, she isn’t supposed to. Kelaca truly doesn’t know what’s going on, not fully, and Hissera almost envies the fact that Kelaca doesn’t need to fake her reactions.

Cassandra takes a few steps back, not because the prisoners are intimidating her, _hah, as if._ The Seeker wants a clear view of both of them as she raises her voice to be heard, “You are the only survivors of an explosion the likes of which has never been seen before; it is caution and logic that dictates you all be contained for questioning.” 

Kelaca immediately hates that her jailor isn’t completely in the wrong by that reasoning, exhaling through her nose as she favours her fury and aggresses Cassandra further. “And the chains? We were out cold!” The Nevarran grits her teeth, momentarily forgetting to steer away from the actions of the Divine’s remaining forces, righteous rage keeping her back straight in the face of a tragedy that has yet to sink in with either the dwarf or qunari.

Uninvolved in the conversation ahead of him, the nameless soldier notices what the rest in the dungeon do not. Another clink of chains, this noise behind him and his superior officer. He whips around and sees the third prisoner shift, then go still once again. “Seeker Pentaghast,” he says, and Cassandra’s next counter dies in her throat.

She looks at the soldier, her voice hard, _“What?!”_

He takes a step back and points to the middle of the room, “The elf is waking up.” 

Cassandra’s brown eyes widen for a moment, then she steels her gaze and ceases to acknowledge those caged. “Gather more guards,” she commands, and strides away to the exit, “I will fetch Leliana.” The soldier follows after her, calling _‘yes Ser!’_ and taking the light with him.

Hissera and Kelaca are left in near darkness, full of anger, wrists aching from their restraints, and their hangovers still pressing hard against their heads. Hissera sits back against the wall, watching as Cassandra and who-the-fuck-cares leave the dungeon. Her memories from after they blacked out in the Temple are really gone; as blank as they would be for the survivor that popped out of the Fade in the game. It’s annoying to have such a gap, but she feels relief when she finds she can still remember _why_ the memories are gone. Her knowledge of Thedas is intact; no old-asshole demon stole that treasure-trove from her. Hissera’s held her ability to retain information with a sense of pride, storing everything she learns for far longer than any of her friends. It’s always been useful, and now it keeps her from feeling the same confusion as her dwarven companion.

Kelaca finds a similar emptiness in her when she tries recalling the events following their drunken expedition up the mountain. There’s _nothing_, and she wonders if it’s because they drank too much and blacked out, or if something made her forget. The Conclave destroyed, the Divine dead, and they are the only survivors. It sounds just like the beginning of _Inquisition_, but she doesn’t know what’s layered beyond the chaos of the menu and the interrogation at the very start. Some big glowly tornado is reaching down from the sky and throwing out demons instead of sucking things up. _But why?_ She wonders, her eyes unmoving from the shape of her friend across the room. _What happened to us?_

They sit in silence until a great thunder of footsteps drums down the steps outside the door, and Kelaca counts as ten soldiers each more heavily armored than the last guy stride into the dungeon. The first positions themself beside the door, the rest spreading out and taking places with such sureness it seems like standard procedure. Two carry torches and stand ten feet apart, facing one another in front of the occupied cells, in line with the barred walls that aren’t shared by the prisoners. The last six surround the elf just as she begins to rouse and unsheathe longswords, at the edge of what Kelaca guesses is Sati’s reach. Kelaca tenses, afraid for the life of a friend she’s had for years. She vaguely remembers that the protagonist awakens to this sight and this is technically _good_ but expects that reality could totally screw them all up the ass raw and kill her unlucky friend. 

Sati groans softly, lifting her upper body slowly from on her knees, apparently having been folded over her own lap. The first thing she notices is the big, green and glowing scar on her left palm. _Pretty… wait._ Her hand screams with pain, the kind she expects would match a knife going through her and twisting around. Her arm feels numb with the pain, and a meek, miserable keening sound leaves her shut mouth.

Hissera can’t resist the line that springs to mind as she watches the elf wake up, something beyond inappropriate and therefore perfect for this moment. “Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” Her grin is wolfish, and her voice resonates with a fake, Nordic accent. _“Welcome to Skyrim, prisoner.”_

Unable to see her friends, her elven hearing somehow tells Satina exactly where they are; far behind her in a big empty room. She blinks her silver eyes a few times, her vision oddly blurry and her head pounding with a terrible migraine. The words Hissera spoke take some time to register in her mind, and when they do, she drops back down over her thighs and starts shaking. Her chains rattle and she silences her laughter by groaning into the wool of her leggings. _Oh my fucking god, if I laugh I’ll totally die._

She clearly got the Anchor branded on her hand after passing out, and that means the Temple got blown to smithereens. It hurts way too fucking much to be a dream, which means she is _soooooo screwed._

“Ughh,” she sits up again, just in time to feel another electric shock hit the mark. It sparks with magical energy, and even though it looks cool she’s struggling not to cry from how badly it stings. 

“You okay?” Kelaca asks, and the elf shrugs her shoulders, her arms held apart by what looks like a metal spreader-bar.

“‘S not as bad as you’d think,” she lies with a sigh, trying to toughen up for the inevitable start of-

The door slams open, and Cassandra goddamn Pentaghast storms in, Leliana close behind and wearing her chainmail, a lavender hood over her head but allowing her fiery red hair to peek out and frame her stunning face. Cassandra looks great in her armor, and her scars make her look rugged and powerful and the elf realizes she might have a thing for being intimidated. _Wow, they’re really gorgeous,_ Sati thinks, staring blankly at the female characters she adores most from her gameplay experiences. 

The soldiers around her sheathe their blades to make room for the Left and Right Hands of the Divine, and the latter circles to stand behind Sati. A richly accented, utterly beautiful voice that belongs to Cassandra speaks darkly beside her ear. 

_“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.”_

-the cutscene.

There’s a collective _‘oh shit’_ that echoes in the minds of the party all chained up; Hissera valiantly withholding a cackle, Kelaca clenching her fists, and Satina beginning to sweat nervously.

Cassandra goes on, stalking around the tiny slip of an elf, and Hissera calls out each line in her head from memory. “The Conclave is destroyed.” _Oof._ “Everyone who attended is dead.” _That’s rough, buddy._ “Except for the three of you.” _Ah, some divergence!_

Sati can practically see the dialogue wheel appear in front of her, and she quickly replies, “You think I’m responsible.” She sounds sharper than she intended to, and unexpectedly finds that Cassandra’s predatory actions are making her defensive rather than submissive.

Chains rattle as the Seeker roughly jerks the girl by her upper left arm, the mark crackling with some impressive dramatic timing. “Explain this,” she demands, and Sati grits her teeth when more than the Anchor gives her pain.

_Fuck! Why does my arm hurt?!_

“I-I can’t.” Her voice stutters just like the Herald’s would, but from pain, not confusion.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Cassandra drops her arm, she and Leliana moving to opposite sides of their prisoner.

Sati’s heart races, anger and fear blending together in her chest. “I don’t know what it is, or how it got there!” Her shoulders bunch together tightly, the lie making her feel safe instead of guilty.

“You’re lying!” Cassandra abruptly grabs the elf’s shoulders and throws her back, holding her tightly and keeping her from falling. Sati bites back a scream of pain, dropping her chin and muffling herself.

“Let go of her!” Kelaca shouts, and Leliana swoops in to guide Cassandra away from the dwarf’s friend. 

“We need her, Cassandra.” She sounds French, and her voice is pretty and kinder, but somehow Kelaca feels like the redhead is faking it. A brief silence falls in the room and the one with the glowing mark is still trembling with pain, unable to say anything.

Hissera fills in the gap where Sati is meant to speak, “We’re confused, none of this makes sense.” She forces her tone to be firm and to mean it, ad-libbing the best she can from her cell in the back. Leliana’s sharp gaze moves over the qunari, then she takes several steps towards her. She stops at the barred wall, being the reasonable one to garner trust. Hissera knows the play, and still follows it, because it really is their best chance of fixing this shit. 

“Do you remember what happened? How this began?” The Orlesian accent is lovely, but honestly, nothing in the world could make Hissera drop her guard around a Thedosian Bard. She has to pretend she does, though.

Hissera slumps her shoulders, shaking her head and feeling it throb from her hangover. “No. We were drinking, and we went up to the Temple- uh,” she decides something quickly, and awkwardly finishes, “We wanted to see the windows. We heard it was pretty, coloured glass and one looked like Andraste.” The lameness works in her favour, because Leliana is expecting a better cover than that, and seriously, who would make that up? The drunken binge was true, anyway.

Sati exhales shakily and nods, “Oh yeah. We were betting on her hair colour…” Another lie, but it helps.

“They carried me up,” Kelaca adds, “I drank so much I couldn’t walk.” It stings to admit it, but she’ll say anything to make her captors believe them.

Hissera’s cuffs rattle as she sits up, hoping to trigger the next line in Sati’s memory, “I.. remember running. _Things_ chasing us.”  
It works.

“Then.. a woman?” Sati says, weak and exhausted but lifting up her head and prompting the Nightingale to return to her.

“A woman?” Even Leliana sounds disbelieving.

“She reached out to me.” The elf braves an innocent voice, trying to appear like she’s in awe. “But, then…“ When she trails off, Cassandra mercifully orders Leliana to go to the forward camp, and yet what the Seeker says next causes an uproar in the cells.

“I will take her to the rift.”  
_Her,_ singular?

“Oh hell no!” Hissera shouts, ignoring Leliana stalking out the door, “Look at her! She’s in serious fucking pain, and she sucks at fighting!”

Cassandra cannot keep the frustration from showing in her voice, “And you expect me to bring the three of you?”

Kelaca manages to stand up, her restraints the length for someone much bigger than she is. “Can you protect her by yourself?” 

Hissera quickly adds, “Are you going to protect her from the people out there?” If the game was accurate to their reality, there was an angry mob outside and she’s read some fanfictions where the Herald got roughed up.

That gives the Seeker pause, and she begins to show signs that she’s considering their party is innocent in this tragedy. Her eyes are no longer a narrow glare but instead show her weariness and grief. “I cannot promise to protect her.”

_“Then let us go with you,”_ Hissera says, imploring the human to trust their group. “We want to know what’s going on, and we need to be there for Sati.”

Cassandra holds herself still for a moment, her brown eyes sweeping over each of them. They have no weapons but single daggers, as most peasants would. They look strange and out of place, but none were seen doing wrong in Haven. One of her soldiers came forward to say that he passed the trio on their way to the Temple, bewilderingly drunk and giggling among themselves. 

_She first sees them for what they are._  
Dehydrated, bruised, scraped, and suffering awful headaches.  
A golden qunari with blood-red eyes, long black hair in tiny braids, and lacking the warpaint of those in the Qun.  
A dwarf with stark white hair that fluffs out like a cloud, eyes a strange and vibrant shade of purple, wearing the casteless brand of someone born unwanted beneath the surface.  
A tan elf with unusual red Dalish markings, silver eyes, and black hair only slightly longer than Cassandra’s own. 

_Then for what they must be._  
Confused, frightened, worried, and close.  
The qunari is determined to join; she doesn’t break her stare with the Seeker this time, all traces of her sarcasm and attitude from earlier gone.  
The dwarf is protective and desperate; she’s straining at her chains to reach the prisoner at Cassandra’s feet, obviously caring.  
The elf is in unimaginable pain and resigned; she isn’t protesting alongside her companions, she’s prepared for a terrible fate and closing off.

Cassandra closes her eyes, her decision made, and echoes clearly through the dungeon.  
_“You all must stay close to me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, they did the thing. Now they have to live with it! Sorry if it seems really fast-paced, the next chapter is VERY long and covers a lot more ground and I didn't want this tacked on to either the previous or next chapter.  
-Pebble


	6. Bumps, Bruises, and the Breach (Shit's real, and real funny)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 11:55pm so it's still Wednesday, right?  
I apologize for the lateness! Enigma and I were busy and we like to review the chapters together before posting them! Also, Enigma insisted on pre-writing the smut, which was... distracting.  
-Pebble

A soldier unlocks Hissera and Kelaca’s cells but their cuffs remain, the little dwarf resisting the urge to sneak the keys for herself and get them off. _Not. The. Time._ As she rubs her wrists under the metal and Hissera stretches her legs, the pair watches as Cassandra personally releases Satina from the chains tying her to the floor. Each limb was shackled, which seemed like an overreaction, especially compared to the game. Really, four whole chains on one tiny elf?

When Sati stands, she wobbles, and Cassandra grips the younger girl by the arms to steady her. A hiss of pain leaves her suddenly, the pressure too much for her to bear. “Th-That hurts,” she tells the Seeker, who kindly loosens her grip after studying Sati’s face for any deception. 

Cassandra’s thick brows furrow, “Your mark may be killing you.”

Worry fills Satina’s empty gut, she wonders if the mark is supposed to make _all_ of her hurt, and then wonders why her stomach is empty. Did she puke in the Fade? When her friends are marched up beside her, she falls into a safe facade, and asks in a quiet voice, “What happened…?” 

Hissera steps up beside Satina, her hair a little worse for wear; the braids are mostly intact, but several appear to have been snagged on who-knows-what after they blacked out. She’s desperate for some fresh air or some fucking water, having never felt a hangover more awful than this. “Why is there a forward camp?” The tallest of the party was laying it on thick, hoping to be believed that they totally don’t know about the demons being spat out of a giant tear in the Veil.

Kelaca joins in, even without prompting, “Is there fighting?” The smallest can’t help being curious. All those people she saw outside of Haven came hoping for peace, and that was definitely off the table now. Were the mages and templars fighting _here?_

“It.. will be easier just to show you,” Cassandra leaves the cuffs on all of the imprisoned squad, forgoing the bit where she replaces it with rope in the game. It makes sense because it saves time, but there was something compelling about her cutting the binds when she decides to trust the Herald. A bit of disappointment washes over the qunari and the elf, their dwarven friend only jittering with the need to get the heavy crap off of her.

They follow Cassandra in a line out of the dungeon and up a long flight of stairs that makes the dwarf slow down significantly. Soldiers follow close behind her, and that immediately ticks her off. Sure, they don’t need to be down there anymore, but she hears one snicker when she stumbles up one of the steps. Her head whips around and amethyst eyes land on the nearest soldier with undisguised rage. The helmet hides his reaction, but the way he awkwardly clears his throat tells her that he won’t do that rude shit again.

Past the top of the stairs, the party walks through a really poorly lit- _what kind of building is this?_

“Where are we?” Kelaca asks, her gentle voice reaching the not-Paladin leading them down a red carpet in a huge, empty hall. Candles light their path as they advance towards one of the tallest fucking set of doors she’s ever seen, and she realizes the intense red-haired lady is long gone.

“We are in the Chantry,” Cassandra replies, and Kelaca raises both of her white brows.

_Seriously, she’s like a Paladin!_  
If the warrior really believes that drugging Kelaca’s best friend was the right thing to do, then the dwarf knew that suppressing her budding kleptomania was a great decision. Lawful Good types were kind of terrifying, especially on a warpath.

Cassandra abruptly pauses and so does the party, waiting as her soldiers push the grand doors open wide and letting light in the bleak vestibule. They already what’s coming, each of the otherworlders can picture the _Big Rocky Ethereal And green Cataclysmic shitHole_ in the sky; it was the box art for the game for fuck’s sake. That still, somehow, doesn’t prepare them in the slightest for the epic scale of this disaster.

Hissera is the first to walk behind the Seeker when she leaves, stepping into the daylight leaking through stormy grey clouds and briefly making her blind from the sudden exposure. She raises her cuffed wrists and blocks the light with her hands, taking in a deep breath of fresh air that lessens the pressure in her skull. Her bronze skin reflects the sickly green glow that silhouettes her hands, and when her eyes adjust, she lowers them to see what Fen’Harel’s stupidity has unleashed upon Thedas.

“We call it _The Breach,”_ Cassandra begins, stopped in her tracks again in the snow. She gives her prisoners time to gawk at the magnificent chaos erupting from the sky. “It’s a massive rift in the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.” 

The clouds spiral around a scraggly green bolt of light stretching downward, spewing rocks with virescent trails and defying gravity with enormous chunks of the land floating amidst the streams of acid-coloured fog. It’s breath-taking and really fucking _cool._

Satina and Kelaca step up beside Hissera, the three of them discreetly bumping their fists as they all stare, agape, at the magical demon tornado that sits where a whole ass mountain used to be. (They’re doing their best to cope.)

“It’s not the only such rift, just the largest.” Cassandra continues to monologue as the idiots standing behind her admire the really bad thing she’s talking about. “All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?” Kelaca asks, breathless not from fear but excitement. _Way to set a fucking standard._

Cassandra turns and suddenly approaches the trio with purpose, “This one did.” Her expression is hard and nothing about her tone conveys anything except her incredible will; this woman sees the Breach as something to be conquered, she must. “Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

A booming shockwave crosses the mountain range, the light of the Breach crackling outwards in a way that screams instability. Sati’s hand flares up, glowing brightly, and she shouts in pain, falling against her tallest friend. She squeezes her hand into a fist and mentally curses worse than a sailor could goddamn mother-fucking shit-balling dream in a million piss-blighted years.

The Seeker moves close and addresses the two unaffected by ancient bullshit magic, serious and drawing their attention magnetically. “Each time the Breach expands, your friend’s mark spreads- _and it is killing her.”_ Kelaca stares back at the righteous woman as she offers a glimmer of hope, “It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

_As if they needed anymore fucking incentive to be the heroes._  
All of the girls school themselves into something brave or considerate, the two experienced players deciding the skip the ‘Investigate’ dialogue pretty immediately. _Ain’t nobody got time for that._

Hissera exhales through her nose and helps Sati stand straight, an awkward task with their shackles. The qunari narrows blood-red eyes at Cassandra with a look of respect and determination gleaming in the Breach’s unnatural light. “We understand. We’ll do what it takes.” She can practically see **Cassandra Approves** and a little banner as the woman’s face shows her surprise and relief. 

“Then…?”

Satina rolls back her slim shoulders and continues for her friend, “We want to help, however we can.”

“You bet we do!” Kelaca grins and steps forward, the dwarf becoming the bravest of all the party, even as the one without a clue about what lies beyond this nightmarish beginning. Perhaps exactly because of that, she feels more than ready to take on a huge, magic hole in the sky.

Cassandra nods once, then gestures the three of them to remain close as they resume their path, trudging through a Haven they remember as bright and cheerful the day before, now dark and buzzing with potential mass-hysteria. Only the dwarf bothers to listen as Cassandra explains the obvious, that all the people of Haven are confused, frightened, and with the Divine dead and them the only survivors- they make awesome targets for a witch hunt.

Kelaca learns that the lady-pope of Thedas and lots of important figures on both sides of a rebellion are dead as fuck, and now everyone needs answers and someone to blame. It sure is great that there’s no better way they could have stood out than be marched by a not-Paladin in chains through the walled village. Peace is utterly boned, and she tries harder than ever to lighten the circumstances in her perspective with casual jokes in her head; it’s too easy to be threatened by the captivating way Cassandra explains how screwed Kelaca and her friends are.

_Nothing like an angry mob,_ Hissera dryly notes, walking behind her smaller friends to make sure no asshole tries to sneak in a shot at either of them. Humans can become savage in times of strife, and more so towards anything they deem a minority that ‘threatens’ them. History books of Earth made that pretty damn clear, and her family made damn sure to warn her about racist fuckers growing up. 

Satina hears their voices, their cruel and vicious words of bitter prejudices of species and magic. Something about it feels _familiar,_ and a memory is at the edge of her mind, but she pushes it back and focuses on the ground ahead of her as her warm features turn dark. The kind parts of her are hidden away, where they’re safe and untainted by the miasma around her group.

“We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves, as she did, until the Breach is sealed.” Divine Justinia was a good woman, and Thedas will suffer her loss for a long time. All three otherworlders wonder if, in another reality, maybe the Conclave succeeded. Perhaps mages found a place in Ferelden and Orlais where they guide themselves, and the Templars found redemption by becoming their guardians instead of their jailors. A reality where peace comes without the blood-soaked waves Corypheus makes across the continent. 

Mercifully, the grim procession comes to a halt as they step onto a bridge covered by sparse soldiers, crates of supplies, and lines of dead bodies. _Alright, it’s still a little grim even though they stop._

Cassandra faces the party with a powerful disposition, drawing a ring of keys from within the layers of leather armor beneath her steel breastplate. “There will be a trial.” She unlocks Hissera’s cuffs, and they drop to the stone. Kelaca’s are next to go, the marked elf last. “I can promise no more.” The Seeker almost sounds guilty and the muscles at the corners of her eyes pinch slightly, as if she wishes she could offer her prisoners immunity, or just pities them. She turns around and waves one of her hands, her metal gauntlet reflecting the viridescent waves of the Breach. “Come. It is not far.”

‘It’ being the forward camp, two of the three new Thedas-arrivals know that the journey is going to have an annoying but necessary detour. The tutorial demanded a dramatic introduction to combat, and Hissera cracks her neck to prepare herself for the ache she would inevitably feel after the next bridge blew up beneath their feet. 

All four begin lightly jogging down the path partially cleared of snow in some places, completely frozen over in others. Sati trips just as the Breach cracks and expands again, throwing her to her knees while her face twists into a hilarious expression of misery. Hissera definitely wishes someone other than one of her friends was going through the misfortune of carrying the Anchor, but she can’t help finding that awful look on Sati incredibly amusing.

“You look like shit!” She laughs as Cassandra gives her a strange look, crouching to help the elf back to her feet. 

Once more, when the Seeker grips her arms, the girl cries out in pain. Cassandra finally questions her, having grabbed Sati nowhere near as roughly as she had in the dungeons. “Are you injured? We had you all looked over..”

Groaning partially from an attitude that’s already done with the mark’s bullshit, Satina shakes her head, black hair fluffing out from the wild motion. “M-My tattoos, it’s them.” _I think._  
Nothing else made sense! The Anchor wasn’t supposed to make her entire body sting at the slightest pressure.

“Oh,” Cassandra says, showing a hint of her tactless nature. She was a warrior, too straightforward and impulsive to know how to apologize without being completely awkward. She forgoes an apology entirely, instead promising caution. “If you fall again, I will help you differently.”

Sati would probably fall again, and she’s not embarrassed to accept Cassandra’s aid. In her old body, her legs were weak and if she were ever on the floor, one of her friends would pull her to stand. Kelaca and Hissera were wonderful at helping; the former gentle giant would hug her and lift her up, and the one trained in martial arts would tug her so smoothly and quickly she was on her feet in the blink of an eye. Zander kind of sucked at it, but he meant well. 

Thinking of their missing fourth friend made her swallow a sudden wave of tears, worry flooding her system and her present companions offering her comfort. They assume that the pain is too much, and she lets them. The elf rationalizes that there will be a better time than storming the Breach with Cassandra to bring up the subject of Zander’s absence. 

The party all moves on, making haste on a winding mountain trail, a wall of rock immediately to their right, and on their left a steep slope leads down to a river of ice. Each takes care to put space between them and the edge of their path, their boots scuffing through snow and dirt and soot. Scorch marks from little meteors of the Breach litter their surroundings, warning that at any moment one could fly in their direction.

It’s precisely when they reach the dreaded second bridge that Satina hesitates. She hangs back at the path as the others walk onto the stone; Hissera bravely ready to face the rough landing, Kelaca and Cassandra unaware of its impending destruction.

The dwarven girl quickly notices Sati’s falling behind, and turns around, waving her little arms. “Hey, come on!” Cassandra and Hissera look back and see the elf clutching at her cloak, looking utterly miserable again. 

“I-I _really_ don’t want to!” Sati shouts, shuffling on her feet, and her qunari friend sighs before retreating to sweep the light girl over her shoulder. 

“You have to!” Hissera says, and the Seeker is rightfully questioning.

“Why do you not wish to continue?” They move closer to the middle of the bridge, and as her hand crackles as the Breach grows, in her panic, she cries out.

_“Because it’s going to-!”_  
The meteor comes forth in a volant blaze and an unnatural, deep whistle; careening directly into the bridge only a few yards ahead of the group. Stone bricks shatter apart and all of those standing lose their footing, Hissera dropping her friend in the havoc.

They bounce and tumble off the rubble and onto the frozen surface of a pond, where the Breach decides it’s the _perfect_ time to spit out another glowing green projectile. The two warriors recover first, hefting themselves to their feet and watching as a new fireball collides with the ice. When the ground remains intact, the impact suddenly proves itself a different danger than a wayward rock. The glistening sheen of frost is covered by black dust that oozes out into a puddle, it boils and bubbles with acid-green smoke, and Cassandra yells with alarm.

“Demons!” Her head whips to the dwarf, the other two prisoners still recovering from their fall. “Stay back!” She orders, drawing her sword and sliding her shield from her back and into her other hand. Cassandra charges towards the odd, glowing mess, just as a big ugly creature springs out from it like magic.

“Fuck,” Kelaca says in awe before taking a few steps back in a protective stance, glancing behind her to make sure that her friends are getting up. “You guys o- _kay?”_ She trails off when suddenly another demon puddle starts popping and hissing only a few feet away, which feels like a personal attack from the universe, honestly. Cassandra is off battling a monster and way too far to get back in time to protect the three of them, so the snowy-haired girl thinks fast, her eyes flitting around until they land on some crates that fell and broke apart when the bridge collapsed. _Weapons!_

Even knowing she chose the warrior class and that _dwarves can’t be mages,_ she looks at the pair of staves on the ground with a whine. She dives for the longsword and spins around to face the demon, nearly identical to the freaky thing the not-Paladin is fighting. It’s a big, hideous, angry creature with scarred flesh, hunched over and covered by ratty fabric. Over its wide shoulders, Kelaca can see particle effects floating off of- well, Cassandra _glows,_ a sign of her faith, maybe? 

“So not fucking fair,” she hisses under her breath, arcing her arms to her right before hefting the sword that’s longer than she is tall in a baseball player's swing. She cleaves into its gut pretty satisfyingly, bits of cloth and rotten flesh ripped open and exposed, but her right side is quickly left unprotected.

Outside of her awareness, the qunari rallies with just enough time to take a cue from the dwarf; clocking the demon over the right side of its head with the heavy end of a modest staff she got off the ground. It retreats slightly, letting out a screech that is _unholy_ and makes Kelaca reach up a fist to get bumped by Hissera looming behind her.

“Teamwork, bitch!” Shouts the smaller one, proceeding to show the really ugly fucker her favourite finger. 

Their celebration ends in a heartbeat; another wail echoes behind the pair and Hissera turns around to see their elven friend be cornered by yet _another_ demon. “Shit!” The creature they were fighting chooses that moment to strike again, its claws barely stopped by a quick block and slice of Kelaca’s blade. “Sati!” Hissera looks back over her shoulder as she turns to deliver another blow to their opponent. She sees the third demon, a _shade_ navigating the rubble to reach the girl cowering behind a crate, wielding a staff and repeatedly slamming the base into the ice.

“What the fuck!” Satina cries, wondering how in the seven hells she’s meant to summon magic like in the game. She doesn’t have the time or willpower to meditate or whatever shit she probably needs to do. When her enemy reaches her and utterly demolishes the wooden box blocking it from its prey, she raises her staff defensively and shut her eyes.

_Oh shit- I wish I was smaller!_  
Nothing tears into her flesh, and the demonic shriek she hears comes from one of the two her companions are facing. Her eyes open and the shade’s claws rake over where she was just standing, now way up above her head. She feels the freezing ice beneath her hands and feet, which were very much wearing shoes a second ago. Sati takes stock of herself, flicking her head down and seeing itty bitty black paws and wiggly toes-

Hissera sees the shape of her friend disappear in a puff of pitch-black smoke, then the demon swipes at nothing, brushing the dark cloud away. _Sati isn’t a rogue, but entered stealth?_

Sati’s attempt to scream _‘what the fuck?!’_ just comes out as a pathetic squeal, and when the demon looms over her very tiny body she scrambles to get away. The bronze qunari watches as a small black nug sprints from Sati’s hiding place and then skates across the frozen pond until it collides with her ankles. The realization comes pretty quickly, and Hissera almost drops from the sheer _blessing from the gods of funny shit._

** _Shapeshift_ **

Kelaca hears Hissera cackle and turns around the moment after she drives her blade through their opponent’s chest, the monster dying with an eruption of green flame that destroys its corpse. Her brows are pinching and she first sees the other demon charging towards them, then a distinct lack of their elven friend. Her violet eyes glance down when she notices a little squeak and a small dark… _rabbit, thing?_

“Sati?” She asks, and when the small animal squeaks and awkwardly skates between her short legs, she decides that must be a ‘yes.’ Kelaca hardly has a chance to process the situation before the demon reaches her position, Hissera’s staff swinging over her head to knock into the ugly monster’s face. 

A counter; the shade screeches and fights the blow, swiping with talons four-inches long, just barely tearing through the dwarf’s white hair as she ducks. 

“Fucking shit!” Kelaca’s raging, she drives her blade through its chest as Hissera’s weapon glows orange, a burst of fire against its face melting away the flesh. The demon dies and bursts into ethereal flames like the last one, collapsing into a pile of mouldy ash. Gross, but convenient! 

They have a brief reprieve; there’s no immediate threat and the tumble they took from the bridge blowing apart hits them. They ache all the fuck over, Kelaca’s left elbow is bruised to hell, and Hissera’s pretty sure her hip looks worse, but she chooses not to lift her tunic in the middle of the mountains and check. While the two take a chance to catch their breath, Kelaca cracks her knuckles and kicks at the demon-dust before an icy wind blows it away, satisfied and feeling pretty awesome for killing her first monsters. 

“What is this?” A deeply accented voice calls out from behind the girls, and both abruptly remember the weird little creature (that was _probably_ Sati) went that way. Kelaca turns in Cassandra’s direction so quickly she almost slips and sees the warrior unscathed, kneeling on the frozen pond with one of her metal hands gripping the scruff of probably-Sati the black bunny thing.

“Take a _wild_ fucking guess.” Hissera snickers again, carefully, and surprisingly easily walking across the ice to Cassandra. Kelaca follows a bit less gracefully, but she doesn’t trip or fall on her ass.

The Seeker narrows her gaze at the nug in her grasp, scrutinizing the weak creature. It’s unusually black and with those same colourless eyes as the marked prisoner. A cursory glance around the area reveals no such third prisoner anymore, and Cassandra connects the dots with a sigh of exasperation.

“You are a shapeshifter?” She asks the nug, unamused. It dangles in the air and bats a paw as if to answer, or possibly is just twitching in the new form. She lowers it back to the ground and looks up at the other prisoners. “You knew this?” She addresses the pair.

“Obviously,” Kelaca says, watching as _Satinug_ starts to cross the short distance between Cassandra and the dwarven girl. It’s a struggle of small paws stumbling and slipping out from underneath a tiny black body, and _incredibly_ entertaining as the winds howl and the sky rips apart in the distance.

Cassandra looks back down, more in thought than some kind of amusement like those around her. After a moment of silence, she comes to a conclusion none of the otherworlders expect. “You could have escaped, at any moment. You chose not to.”

_Uh._

Back in the dungeons escaping never occurred to Kelaca, or the others, judging by Hissera’s stone expression and Sati freezing in place. Kelaca was too incensed and freaked out by her missing memories to plan a jailbreak earlier, and now that Sati had shown the ability to be a magic rabbit, their jailor slash guardian saw the potential for goodness in their party. That was kind of awesome because they didn’t deserve that. 

Or did they? They still could have run once Cassandra unlocked their chains, but here they remain, following and demanding to help.

When the human woman stands, only two heads shorter than Hissera and towering over Kelaca, her back is straight and her eyes gleam with something akin to respect. She nods to their group, “I would not deny you your weapons. I cannot protect you, and I trust you mean well.”

** _Cassandra Approves…?_ **

“Thanks,” Kelaca returns the nod, bravely and intelligently choosing not to correct the woman on her assumption. A good rule of thumb, you should always, _always_ let people believe you’re more law-abiding than you really are. She doesn’t know Cassandra from anything but their brief time together since the warrior stormed into the dungeons, but Kelaca already cares enough to hold a good impression, if possible. 

Beside her, Hissera feels the same, albeit for the sake of convenience. It wouldn’t do any favours for her if the Seeker didn’t approve of her a little. “We’re all alive and you’re giving us a chance to help.” The qunari speaks firmly as if her statement should mean their cooperation is obvious, when she herself knows that the people of Thedas are starved for hope and rarely expect aid in hard times. 

Cassandra sheathes her blade, keeping her shield upon her left arm, and digs into pouches on her belt. She produces two potions, small bottles about the size of soda cans and filled with a transparent red liquid. One goes to Kelaca, the other Hissera. “Take these,” she says, turning back towards the Breach. “We should keep moving.” 

As the white-haired dwarf pops the cork out of her health potion, she doesn’t hesitate to drink it down. Her enthusiasm sours, but she swallows down the fluid that tastes uncannily like cherry cough syrup. 

The bronze qunari woman loosens, then flicks the cork off the top of her bottle, and sniffs at what’s inside. It smells like _nothing,_ so she tips it back and chugs it until the potion is gone. No flavour; she’s a little disappointed.

A second passes and their bruises heal, scrapes on their knuckles and cuts on their faces closing with a faint white glow in the blink of an eye. Their hangovers are just fucking _gone,_ which rocks. When the pair realizes Cassandra made no comment about what to do with the empty bottles afterward, they share a look and toss them. Hissera aims for the remains of the bridge, while Kelaca blindly throws it back over her shoulder, still dealing with the bitter aftertaste. The Seeker misses the sound of glass shattering when the rift in the sky _cracks_ and the nug at their feet lets out a squeak. 

Kelaca looks down at the transformed mage, “You can’t change back, can you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the writing process... we're about three chapters ahead, because college gets in the way of working farther. The chapters are accidentally getting longer and longer too, because I feel like _something_ should happen in each chapter, and can't quite hand-wave events yet.  
Please be patient with us, chapters may come every other week in the future!  
-Pebble


	7. Growth In Times Of Violence (Feel Da Powah)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 50 kudos and 300 hits?! WHOA  
Alright it's not Wednesday anymore and this is entirely my fault this time.  
-Pebble

The dwarf wasn’t joking when she asked Sati if she was stuck in her new itty bitty body. All three of them know it too, and when Satinug squeaks again, confirming the troubling state, Hissera snorts. Yeah, this’ll be a problem, but it’s still pretty funny.

Hissera glances up at the waiting Cassandra, then sees that Shortstack’s hands are full with a sword. “Oh boy,” she comments, “-guess I’m the pet carrier.” She shifts her long braids behind her shoulders, wisely deciding she’ll need to bind it out of the way for combat in the future. Her arms open up as she crouches, one hand gripping her upright staff for support, the other scooping the black nug from off the ice and against her chest. She’s standing tall on her feet easily and cradles the shifted elven girl that Hissera thinks is likely now in her own world and no longer paying attention. 

Kelaca stares into Satinug’s freaky silver eyes and murmurs to the qunari towering over her, “So what did she turn into?” As far as she can tell, it’s a dark, hairless rabbit-thing with weird toes.

“A nug,” Hissera says plainly and marches ahead to catch up with Cassandra, who looks more agitated with every meteor the Breach spits out. Kelaca follows and tests the foreign word on her tongue, mouthing ‘nug’ as a strange image comes into her head. 

_A salmon-coloured creature scampering across the earth, sunshine blinding her-_  
“Wait, aren’t they usually pink?” She asks, and Hissera turns her head to give her a look, blood-red eyes narrowing with confusion.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

Kelaca’s face pulls into an exhausted pout, remembering the previous day and all the _new things_ they were learning about themselves. A memory, this time. “I just do,” she mutters quietly as the trio reaches the waiting warrior.

“We must hurry,” Cassandra’s look is made of steel and faith. The world is still ending, after all. “We should test her Mark on something smaller, there is a rift on the way to Leliana.” She glances at the nug tucked into Hissera’s left arm, and her brow pinches before she seems to decide something on her own again. The woman nods, and the others say nothing. 

If the Seeker thinks there’s a reason other than _Satina can’t transform at will_ for why the only hope for Thedas is still a shadow-nug, then that’s another boon the otherworlders will fucking take.

“So if the big rift, the Breach,” Kelaca begins to say as she treks beside Hissera, “-is spitting out stuff like those demons and giant rocks. What does a smaller one do?”

“They still release demons, but in a concentrated space,” Cassandra explains while looking only ahead, where more scorch marks litter the landscape and the air warbles with unnatural sounds. The group hikes up an incline, walking on the frozen river that fills the abandoned pond in the spring. Each step is quick and careful, the pressure of the sky racking and ripping apart driving the muscles in their legs to hurry. Their progress goes better the moment they reach a hill with a solid dirt path, no longer stuck on frozen and uneven ground.

At the crest, they see it curve to a downward slope, hugging the right side of yet another pond. There are demons waiting for them on the ice, two shades circling one another and skating unaware of the party above.

Cassandra shouts a warning before she rushes down the slope, drawing the monsters’ attention with hardened bravery. Kelaca grips her sword tightly before chasing after her lead, her own battlecry coming out as one of the shades rushes to meet them at the bottom of the path. 

The qunari mage feels a rush of adrenaline as she cuts the corner, rushing not down the hill but right over the edge and dropping straight to the ground. She lands in the cliche superhero crouch, Satinug secure under one bronze arm. Her staff smacks into the ice, her blood-red eyes locking onto the other shade. It turns when it hears the collision and gives an ugly screech. 

A wolfish grin pulls on her face, her teeth showing as a gust of flame erupts from the crystal at the head of her weapon. The fire slows the demon just long enough for her to stand, charge, and swing the staff so it cracks into its freaky head. There’s an approving squeak from her tiny companion, and Hissera feels a new instinct at the edge of her mind-  
Her fingertips tingle as she takes a step back and suddenly shimmering gold dust is in the air around her. The shade raises its arms to swipe an attack, and the dust solidifies in an instant. 

** _Shimmering Shield_ **

The shape of a warrior’s shield appears where the demon connects with her glowing aura, protecting her completely. Energy gathers in her muscles, invigorating and giving her strength. “Shit!” She laughs, another ball of flame gathering at the head of her staff, “This is awesome!” Thrusting her staff outward, she scorches the demon’s face and watches it flail in agonizing panic. Fire damage was so fucking sweet; sure ice was great in _Dragon Age_, but damn was it satisfying to watch things burn.

Across the pond, Cassandra slashes diagonally across the other shade, Kelaca circling around to flank the monster and run her blade through its back. It dies when the human bashes her shield into its head, vanishing in a haze of pale green fire that leaves a pile of dust in its place. The death sequence of a demon is already becoming familiar to the dwarf, she thinks. When she kicks this pile away, she’s immediately surprised when her boot hits something solid. There’s a strange gooey lump sitting in the ashes, as green as the Breach and smelling of sulfur. 

_“Loot!”_ Without a second thought, Kelaca bends down and pokes it with the end of her sword. It doesn’t dissolve her weapon or burst into a horrible toxic cloud, and Cassandra doesn’t freak out about what the short girl is doing, so… it’s probably safe, right? When the not-Paladin runs off to fight alongside Hissera, she decides then to dip her hand into the goop, instantly feeling a warm slime on her bare skin. 

She touches a firm object inside the remains and closes her fingers around whatever it is before tugging it out of the muck. It slides off her with a quick shake of her hand, and she discovers a shiny black crystal is her treasure. Kelaca has no fucking clue what it is, but she pockets it and straightens in time to see Cassandra land the final blow on Hissera’s foe.

Hissera feels lightheaded and faintly remembers that the ability she cast drains mana really fucking fast. She wondered how she’d be able to tell how much mana she has, and now she knows. The world stops spinning as soon as she drops the glittering spell, losing the slight buff it gave the rest of her body. Her mana gradually replenishes itself while Kelaca jogs over to join them, eager to find out if there will be another piece of loot inside the now-dead demon’s disintegrating corpse. Sadly, there’s not. 

“We’re doing good so far!” Kelaca cheerfully observes. Not a single party member took damage. Sati is still a fucking nug, but every victory counts!

“Lot more demons to go,” Hissera cracks her neck and neatly turns her staff like a baton, utilizing a skill she gained in her old body from martial arts training. Their mutual friend is packaged in her arm, kept warm and un-squished. 

Cassandra flicks demon ashes off her blade, speaking to the qunari, “I have never seen a mage fight as you do.”

“Because I fight like a warrior,” Hissera replies, recalling her specialty as _Arcane Warrior_ and the sweet spells that allow a mage to tank like a real fighter. It was similar to _Knight-Enchanter_ but had less to do with barriers and more with buffs. Someday soon, hopefully, she could get a sword of her own. Her eyes flick to the dwarf closeby, who hefts around her longsword with a bit of awkwardness. “Kels, you good carrying that?”

“Yeah! I just hope I don’t accidentally stab one of you!” Kelaca laughs, turning around quickly with her weapon pointing up, the blade flat against her shoulder to rest as the party moves on again. She has absolutely no idea how she’ll carry it any way except in her hands, there was no sling-sheath amongst the broken crates and rubble, and strapping a longsword to her hip in the future would make it drag along the ground. Damn, being short had some drawbacks.

“Isn’t that heavy?” Hissera asks her, her staff already finding dual-use as a walking stick as the party travels along a frozen stream. She vaguely remembers another shade and the first wraith are coming right up.

“Nope!” It’s pretty fucking awesome, Kelaca’s just as strong- if not _stronger_ than she was before. Her weapon felt like a twig! A decently-balanced and dangerously sharp metal twig. Her qunari friend nods thoughtfully, sensing Kelaca’s enthusiasm but refraining from making a comment their escort would find peculiar.  
Hissera can’t exactly say _wow, didn’t expect your new body to be so strong!_ Or _hey, that’s neat!_ When 'Hissera' would already have known 'Kelaca' was strong enough to wield a large weapon. Mythal’s meddling was already an annoyance, keeping alert about the things they say at all times was _not_ something she needed on her plate.

She snorts, hoping to amend her question and boost their cover, “For you. I doubt Sati could lift that.” The nug in her arms squirms indignantly, and a wicked smirk tugs on Hissera’s face. It’s still hilarious as fuck that the first thing her friend shapeshifts into is a goddamn _nug._  
Kelaca may be excited about her increased strength, but after witnessing both Cassandra and Hissera have some pretty cool particle effects and buffs in battle, she was pretty jealous. A new encounter almost distracts her from that feeling, but the two bigger women charge onwards to the demon lurking on the ice ahead and she huffs in contempt when they glow up. 

“There!” Cassandra shouts, her head turning back as she gestures with her shield arm up at the stairway to their left. “It attacks from a distance!” ‘It’ is a fuzzy green ghost, and of course it’s green- everything Fade-y has been so far.

A passionate envy fuels the dwarven girl as she tears her way up the snowy steps, ducking to her right when the ghost hurls a ball of magical crap her way. Her stride doesn’t falter, her teeth griting as she wields her blade and just thinks _shouldn’t I be able to fucking block that?!_ She’s a goddamn Templar, right? Templars fuck. Magic. Up!__

_ __ _

Yelling from the depths of her lungs, Kelaca swings her sword from overhead and barely catches the instant it lights up with a violet hue- she strikes the wispy ghost and it bursts into nothingness, fucking decimated in a single hit.

** _Smite_ **

_“Fuck yeah!”_ She shouts, thrusting her weapon up victoriously. Below, Hissera practices her own new ability, summoning her shield at will this time and dropping it just after the shade’s attack fails to break through.

Cassandra bashes the shade with her own metal shield, knocking it back and giving Hissera a chance to gather a fireball and finish off the demon. The two share a nod and simultaneously look to the snowy-haired dwarf, seeing her unscathed and digging through the guts of her fallen foe.

Hissera snorts and leads the way as she and the Seeker reach Kelaca in time to see her tuck a black crystal into a pocket on her trousers. “Shade essence?” The mage asks, and Kelaca’s look of confusion reminds her that her friend wouldn’t know.

“Probably?” Kelaca sheepishly grins, resting her sword on her shoulder once more. “So, what did I just fight?”

“A wraith,” Cassandra supplies the answer and inspects the short, oddly-coloured girl. “They are more formidable than they appear, how did you kill it so quickly?”

“Smote the fucker,” spinning on her heel, Kelaca moves to make progress towards the Breach again. She misses the look of shock appear on Cassandra’s face, but hears the warrior call to her as they all trek onward.

“You are a Templar?”

“Did we not mention that?” She knows they didn’t, but she enjoys being cheeky in the flush of her personal victory. Magic could suck her dick! 

Cassandra pinches her brows together and awkwardly shares her feelings, “You are a strange group to be traveling together.” Two mages and a Templar, none the same race? 

“Yeah, _we know,”_ Hissera snickers, imagining the field-day Leliana will have trying to figure them out. Things could easily go badly for their little squad, especially if Mythal put some crazy shit in their backgrounds the three of them had no way of knowing about- but being such a weird cluster in Thedas was proving pretty amusing.

When the group moves on and across the hill, they pass scattered bricks of the ruined temple, flung all this way by an explosion they can barely comprehend the magnitude of. Sure, Hissera and Sati have a lot of context Kelaca lacks, but without seeing the power firsthand, it might never really register in their minds. The Breach spits out more fiery meteors as they cross down a steep decline onto the beginnings of a small lake, all projectiles crashing within a short distance that makes each of them uncomfortable. A few hit a sparse group of trees on a hill to their right, and Cassandra’s eagle eyes spot shades and wraiths emerge from the blasts and crawl out from small craters.

So far there’s one of each flavour; one rotting hunchback and one scooby-doo spectre swarm down from the trees to meet the combat-ready fighters. Having absolutely no idea what the solid demons she’s fought are called, Kelaca tips her head towards Hissera and shouts as her blade cleaves into the side of the big ugly monster. “Hey! What’s this one called!”

“Shade!” Hissera faces off to attack the ranged wraith, summoning magic at the head of her staff and launching four small bursts of fire. She can see it take damage, parts of its ghostly limbs tearing away and leaving it covered in holes. The attack is easy and cheap, mana-wise she can hardly feel a difference in the rising pool she feels in her gut. Mana cost pretty much directly relates to how effective a spell is, and it shows. 

The wraith isn’t visibly slowing after her modest assault, raggard but raising its arms as it suddenly lights up a neon shade of blue that immediately pisses her off. “Fucking _barriers,”_ she growls, recalling a little late that wraiths are one of the few enemies that _actually use_ that skill. In the third game, barriers are an (unbalanced) invulnerability power that let Knight-Enchanters and spirit mages become nearly unstoppable forces in battle. They also make some enemies really damn annoying by basically having extra pop-up health bars; namely, wraiths, some other demons, and a couple fucking _dragons._

Assfuck ghost starts flinging more flaming crap at her, and her shield comes up belatedly after a rushed attack- one projectile makes contact with her upper left arm. An acidic substance splashes and sticks to her like glue, melting and singing her skin instantaneously. She’s hit by the smell of her own burning flesh; a horrible, audible hiss of her bronze skin being disintegrated fills her ears. _Agony_ sears throughout her whole arm, her shoulder muscles tensing so violently she drops her staff. She doesn’t hear the way it clatters to the icy ground, stubbornly holding in a scream when her crimson eyes look up at the damned wraith just as it throws another attack. 

Hissera can’t move, not in time to dodge it. The nug she nearly crushes in her other arm lets out a chittering cry of worry, and it’s all the qunari can do to angle herself so her little friend isn’t hit.

This time the vile magic connects with her the right side of her hip, knocking her off her feet as she instinctively tries to reel back from a new burst of _pain._ Her tunic cauterizes to her flesh, the burning fabric just creating more damage in its wake. She can’t see exactly see how bad her wounds are beneath the effervescent green muck clinging desperately to her body, but the way her nerves scream tells her that it’s not fucking good. 

_Shit, fucking shit fuck- acid-fire-**bullshit!**_  
She releases a guttural cry of hurt and fury, dropping to one knee and hunching herself over the squirming bundle of an idiot shapeshifter. Hissera’s half-ready to throw the shadow nug across the area to where Cassandra and Kelaca face a growing swarm of shades, but there’s no safety for Satina there. She lets out a whispered curse and _tries_ to summon her magic, to bring up her Shimmering Shield spell again, but her focus is completely broken. Nothing but a mere twinkle of magic appears between her and the worst fucking wraith in all of Thedas.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

The wraith looms and sweeps a few feet to her left, as if the malignant wisp is looking at its handiwork or mocking her weakened condition. Her wounds sting endlessly and her situation looks shittier as the seconds slow and a ghostly arm raises a new orb of fire, summoned from who the fuck knows where and likely aimed for a more vital part of her body. She shuts her eyes and ducks down, making sure to shelter her friend at the least. The mage barely catches the freaked out nug-squeak against her chest, braced for another assault.  
Hissera doesn’t see the smoke, but it brushes across her and the warm little shape in her hold disappears. 

Satina crouches, covered in dirt and bruised, between her friend and a cerulean wraith with avenging anger in her colourless eyes. The elf pulls up her cloak in time to block the demon’s attack, watching as a hole burns through the fabric just at level with her face. She feels enough hatred that she could almost kill the fade creature with her gaze alone. 

Her teeth grit so tightly it aches her jaw, and with her own staff in her hands, she stands up quickly and cries out with all her will, _“You fucking shitbag!”_ Her mana surges; the dark sky rumbling and the raging storm overhead as high above a glowing silver spear manifests. 

In a flash the luminescent weapon drops, pitching downward at her foe. The wraith’s blue sheen vanishes as it’s pierced, then explodes- the demon obliterated. Her satisfying retribution makes the immediate loss of consciousness _totally worth it._

The qunari opens her eyes in time to watch the magical display, and snorts when her friend tips over sideways. Hissera doesn’t rally the energy to catch her, letting Satina fall to the ground in an undignified heap. Yeah, Sati ‘rescued’ her, but her acid-wounds fucking _hurt._

Snickering in a way that might very well be a sign of declining sanity, Hissera waits in place as the world rips apart and the winds howl. A blackened film settles over the injuries on her arm and hip that makes her grimace. It looks and smells really awful, like the nasty chemical burns that nobody ever wants to get. She kneels in place as her muscles and nerves throb incessantly, her left hand digging into the flesh of her right bicep just above her wound. The pressure and light sting of her nails distracts her from the absolute hell that emanates from the ugly, marred patches on her body. Hissera really fucking hopes that healing magic is still a thing in this very real Thedas.

After a while spent staring at the Breach, the mountains, and her passed out friend, the mage is approached by a frantic dwarf and a rather alarmed Seeker. “Yeah, we’re okay,” Hissera drawls, wincing when she shifts to sit up straight, pain briefly lancing through her shoulders and spine. “Not really, Sati’s fucking _out_ and the potholes in my skin feel like I’ve got a sunburn from hell.”

“Here,” Cassandra’s voice is firm as she crouches, giving Hissera another health potion and giving the qunari a once-over. “You should count yourself lucky the attacks did not land anywhere critical.” 

_“Mhmm,”_ Hissera hums darkly, narrowing her eyes as she tips her head back and downs the scarlet mixture. Sure as fuck doesn’t seem lucky to get hit at all. She feels some immediate relief, magical- _alchemical?_ medicine taking care of the blackened bits of residue (or flesh) over the burns. Kelaca watches as her friend’s skin heals, bronze creeping back into place. There’s still a raw, dull patch where the burns used to be. Hissera’s noticeably less shiny in those places, and has a stupid hole in her tunic, but now she’s significantly better.

The two warriors are winded but uninjured, and both offer to carry the untransformed girl. Hissera huffs as she collects her staff and Sati’s, “Let me.” The stubborn otherworlder observes a brief expression of awe on Cassandra’s face as the holy woman stares at the idiot that knocked herself out using a single spell. 

As Hissera scoops the unconscious elf off the ground, tossing Sati over her shoulder, a curious feeling niggles at the back of her mind. With the almost reverential look in Cassandra’s dark brown eyes, she suspects that the Seeker is giving them a _little_ too much credit again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! So the next few chapters will come every _other_ week, but they'll be longer for it!  
They next one includes... [drumroll]  
Meeting some folks!! I hope the wait will be worth it!  
-Pebble


	8. Fated Meetings (ain't nobody buying it, Solas)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BIG BOI BIG CHAPTER WHOOOOO  
[Translation: Hey look, it's out on time! :D]

Surely enough, Cassandra voices her new presumptions as the party of four passes through the cobblestone frame of a winding set of steps. Her thick accent carries over the roaring gales and cracks of thunder, walking behind the three ‘prisoners’ of hers. “Each of you, you are not surprised by her magic?” With one Templar, one pretty standard Arcane Warrior, and a wildcard Shapeshifter, it’s a quick guess about which otherworlder has the Seeker sounding confused.

Deciding that Cassandra is talking about the unconscious elf she carries not all that easily up the stairs, Hissera shifts the meager, dead weight of Sati on her shoulder and calls back, “No!” Her thighs start to burn from the burden of another person, not because of the weight, but because it’s completely throwing off her balance. The steps are just as frozen as they were in the night, from what little the qunari can remember of their drunken field-trip, and therefore a pain in the ass to navigate.

The warrior tries to interrogate her, _“That spell-”_

“Hey, I can hear something up ahead!” Kelaca interrupts her, head whipping back to look at the human woman with wide eyes. The dwarf’s wispy hair blows around her soft, soot-covered face, the black brand of a casteless birth contrasting harshly with her snowy curls. There’s no fear in her shiny plum stare; she’s amping up with adrenaline as desperate shouting and the clattering of steel reaches the range of their hearing.

Cassandra meets her gaze, her expression hardening as she raises her shield arm, “We’re getting closer to the rift. They are fighting an endless tide of demons.” 

“Then let’s hurry!” Kelaca shouts as the raucous sounds become louder, each step closer magnifying the volume of a battle she yearns to meet. No questions asked, she assumes that whoever’s holding the position ahead is either (A) unimportant, or (B) part of the gang they’re meant to grow. With as little as the dwarven girl understands about their situation on a _grand scale,_ she senses the gravity of what this next encounter holds in Cassandra’s faith. They’re about to be tested, and there’s no doubt in her quick mind that this is a bit of plot-shit. Instead of feeling afraid, she’s getting excited. 

A cute grin spreads across her face as she races alongside Hissera, going up two steps at a time to keep up with her taller friend. She can hear the noise of their jailor’s armor as Cassandra follows close behind until they reach the top of the stairs. To the right is a bridge covered in flaming debris that distracts the non-humans, wagons and crates burning wildly. _Might be loot, since this is reality…_ Hissera considers the idea, tipping her head and debating the detour when an actual fucking rift isn’t that far away. Cassandra maneuvers around the lingering pair to rush down the path straight on, drawing the girls back into the moment. _Looting can wait._

Kelaca sees the paladin-esque woman heft herself down some kind of ledge, and runs after her brave lead. Cassandra might have pissed her the hell off on principle when they first met, but her courage and strength is fucking _inspiring._ The dwarf notices some broken wood boards at the bottom of the short drop, and lands on them to ease an inevitable shock through the tendons in her ankles. She shakes the feeling out of her feet and grips her sword in both hands, then stops.  
The rift awaits, and it looks different from what she expected. The Breach is a big-ass _hole_ in the sky with acid-green lightning and shit floating around- this thing is a shiny, hovering _rock._

Hissera hits the floor beside the idling dwarf and crouches down to set their mutual friend back against the wall. Her own blood-red eyes narrow as she spies the rift yards away amidst a gathering of humans and shades locked in battle. In the ruins of a courtyard, off-center floats a black, crystalline assemblage with absolutely no symmetrical design. The green-hued quartz bursts and cracks chaotically, shattering and growing in a scarcely contained space ten feet above the snowy ground. It admittedly looks as pretty and dangerous as the game tried to convey.

The bronze-skinned qunari turns her attention to her very fucking vital elven friend, and mercilessly brings her hand up to slap the smaller girl across the face. Immediately, Sati rouses with a yelp, then a miserable groan of discomfort. Her vision is blurry, but she can make out the glare on Hissera’s face, and definitely hears the warning she gives.

“You better fucking get up,” the mage growls, her voice sharp, “-before we’re all _fucked.”_ Satina makes a pathetic, unhappy sound to agree, and once more Hissera marvels at the fantastically stupid circumstances their group has landed in. She stands up straight in time to see that Kelaca charged ahead, the templar already swinging her blade forth into the side of a shade. 

The demon was a moment away from attacking a nameless soldier, who gasps in shock at Kelaca’s speedy arrival. He shouts a desperate thanks to her and raises his shield to knock back their enemy. The two of them create a rhythm that Kelaca’s _new instincts_ set, battle feeling more familiar with each cut and arc of her sword. She ducks and raises up to drive her weapon into the shade’s gut, her soldier buddy lifting his shield over her head to block a swipe of the monster’s claws. 

Just before she can wrench her blade outwards, intending to rip open it’s abdomen, she hears a sharp and quick _whistle._ The demon screeches, and Kelaca’s attention flicks above her to see an arrow lodge itself into her opponent’s left eye. It dies, bursting into ghostly fire and treasure-less ash. Her violet eyes quickly sweep the area, finding a reddish-blonde dwarf across the courtyard lowering a crossbow. The man winks at her, and her cheeks colour a heavy pink- with shyness and rage.  
_He stole my fucking kill!_

As an emboldened, growling Kelaca moves on to another fight, the soldier following her lead, Hissera joins the fray by launching a hefty fireball at a seperate target that Cassandra faces. A scorching roar of flames engulfs the bulky, battered armor on a shade’s shoulder, and the Seeker skillfully turns to fight the demon perpendicularly from the mage, giving Hissera an opening. 

As the demon burns it howls, and the screech it releases is _hideous._ Hissera grits her teeth in annoyance, her instincts guiding her next wave of attacks. She summons her mana into her body to buff herself and an utterly satisfied grin crosses her lips when it works. Her muscles surge with adrenaline and in a few great strides she rushes the demon, turning her staff around and charging something extra special into her weapon.  
It feels natural- she slips into its personal space, right when it turns its attention away from her. 

“Shut the _fuck_ up!” She slams the heavy crystal on the back- _top?_ of its head, and smirks when her blow cuts off its ugly sounds.

She sees a paper-thin wave of golden magic wash down over the shade, and knows instantly that she cast some kind of effect on it. _What,_ she isn’t sure, but takes a few defensive steps back and narrows her eyes, watching it for any sign of… anything.  
The fade-creature trembles, shaking away the mild stun she’s inflicted upon it, and raises up. A rotting mouth growls and leaks black fluid that’s either saliva or blood, the picture of seriously disgusting and a little creepy. They’re really, honestly fighting _monsters;_ former spirits unfortunate enough to get sucked into Thedas or asshole demons that wanted to wreak havoc on the material plane. Either way, they’re up against enemies of freakish proportions.

Cassandra takes note that Hissera cast a spell upon their enemy, seeing the same lingering amber glow. The shade targets the warrior then, and she uses her blade to deflect the slash of its dagger-like claws. She’s successful, but the moment she cuts into flesh, the qunari’s golden magic sparks and suddenly the demon writhes and fucking _bursts._  
Green and black guts shower the two women; the solid pieces quickly erupting into ethereal flames and leaving ash behind, but Hissera would swear some had been on her mouth for a second. Both of them are reasonably stunned. They share a look of abhorrence that doesn’t disappear even as the ‘blood’ on their clothes and skin too, burns away. They’re clean, but that _feeling_ of sticky, chunky bits remains.

** _Walking Bomb_ **

Hissera almost gags, but instead groans and shakes the dust off of herself, swearing right then and there that she will _never_ use that spell again… probably. A light crunch of footsteps on the snow comes from behind the mage, and Hissera turns her head to watch a very alert Satina sprint past their position in the cramped courtyard. The elf is heading right for the rift, without a certain hobo-apostate dragging her as it happens in the game.

When Satina first stood up, gathering her staff from the ground and the mark crackling on her left palm, she swallowed a big, deep breath. Her silver eyes locked onto the rift as it tore open into a virescent web, and she took off running into a disorderly battlefield. Sati had found it surprisingly easy to rouse herself once she thought of what she had to do; as the one with the Anchor, it's _her_ responsibility to run in and get busy. Earlier, her magic must have knocked her the hell out because she was dizzy from a transformation and _probably_ used too much mana in one spell…  
Suddenly waking up at the first rift was a big fucking surprise.

While part of her wants to fucking die already, being left behind with a throbbing cheek to watch her friends head into combat with _actual fucking demons_ was some incredible incentive to ignore the unending pain in her body. A huge, jagged, crystal _mess_ menacingly hovers nearby and threatens to spit out more demons that could overwhelm everybody- and she’s the only person in all of Thedas that can close the damn thing. That idea is nothing short of _terrifying._

Her feet throb with each desperate step she takes to cross the yards between herself and the rift, paying no heed to the figures of humans and monsters in her path. Sati weaves around every fighter and stops beneath the exposed tear in the Veil, an unearthly hum resonating in her ears and drowning out the noise of battle. She discards her staff and spreads her feet, looking up into the nearly blinding light of a rift, and whispers, _“Damn.”_

The feeling of eyes upon her disappears as she raises her left arm and braces it with her right, a glowing tether snapping into existence between her hand and the Fade. She gathers the threads of magic until the tether becomes a rope, and though her body is unmoving she feels like her entire self is being _pulled_ towards the rift.  
It’s like the rift tries to suck her soul into the Fade- she experiences a prominent disconnection between her mind and body as the seconds pass and the seams are still split. Her arms are licked by whips of green magic that snap off her rope, and the pain pushes her willpower to a peak.

_Close you stupid bitch!_  
She senses the very instant she has the edges in her grip, and with a yell, the elf makes a fist and _yanks_ on the tether to snap the rift shut. There’s an audible crack in the air and she stumbles backwards into the rubble beside her, leaning against the stone for support. 

Sati takes heavy, deep breaths as her heart and mind settle back into place. Closing the rift was a jarring experience, and she whimpers when she remembers that she’s going to have to do that so many more times. It put her in a drug-like state where she couldn’t move her body, but had to hold on for dear life as she fought with raw magic to bend it to her will. _That was scary as shit,_ she thinks, _and extremely fucking cool._

She might be in shock.

Her eyes meet with Kelaca’s violet ones and they exchange a thumbs up before Sati laughs breathlessly and leans over her lap, her legs still echoing with a jelly-like sensation. “Ohhh god, I’m gonna puke.” 

_“What did you do?!”_

The voice she hears makes her knees go weak for an entirely new reason, and she flips her upper body to a rigid position, seeing the all-too familiar and all-too _real_ mother-fucking _Solas_ standing just a few feet away. Every cell in her brain short-circuits and she stares, dumbstruck for a moment. He’s genuinely bald, his ears sharp, jaw slender, eyebrows dark, and eyes _a magnetic_ blue. 

“I…” Her own voice is quiet, meek sounding, but that’s merely to contain the incredible weight of her fangirling mind. “-closed the rift.” _Oof, that was a lame reply._

Hissera jogs up to her shorter friend with her shoulders already shaking from suppressed laughter, because the shock on Egghead’s face is fucking hysterical. “Sati!” The qunari woman grins wolfishly and cannot help the next words to come out of her mouth. _“By Fen-Harel’s fucking bearded ballsack!_ How did you do that?!” The chance to make said Elvhen god flustered is just irresistible. Doing so is also probably a good dose of karma because this whole mess is his goddamn fault, anyway. 

“You used your mark on it, how?” Solas recovers admirably quickly, but a glance over her shoulder lets Hissera see a redness to his face that she _knows_ she put there. He moves closer, still staring at the one bearing the glowing scar of his fuck-up.

Hissera has to play dumb about the whole mark thing, and fixes her elven friend with a hard stare to remind the girl not to dig herself into a fucking hole about what they should and shouldn’t let slip. _Think carefully about what you say next, dumbass._

Sati’s responding look of panic silently communicates a pathetic _‘I’m fuckin’ trying’._  
“I felt it, I could do it,” she quickly says aloud, and it’s an honest statement even though she doesn’t really answer _his_ question. How is she supposed to explain that she knew it would work? That aspect definitely helped her courage in the first place, but as soon as she tried connecting to the rift, everything was suddenly insticual.  
Thinking about it now, the elf blanches. That doesn’t make sense- she should have needed Solas’ help, right? 

“How is that possible?” Cassandra joins in suddenly, and all the elf and qunari can think of is _excellent fucking question._ When the Seeker continues, Sati feels her heart stop beating with a wave of dread. “You seem to know a lot, you also appeared _to know_ that bridge would collapse.”  
Kelaca slips between the warrior and the unfamiliar mage to join her two friends, looking up at them discreetly with worry in her eyes. Even she can tell that this isn’t good; they hadn’t talked about revealing their future knowledge before this. In their defense, _they never thought it would come up._

Hissera’s mouth flattens into a grim line, going through possible responses, trying to find an explanation that can work in their favour. She and Sati are definitely going to struggle with keeping what they know to themselves, and if there’s a way to share pieces without getting too much pressure on their shoulders then that would be ideal.  
_Is there such a way, though?_ What would be enough for these people, when the otherworlders only know the events the game deemed big or important enough to include? How do they justify _why_ or _when_ they know what’s coming, and _what_ they even fucking know? This is a huge mess she hates to untangle on the fucking fly.

Her mind whirls with possibilities, and she squeezes Sati’s arm subtly to keep the girl from blurting something impulsively. Trying to play it off doesn’t seem feasible, but their options are limited, and shitty;  
The Herald being ‘chosen by Andraste’ might work for now, but it would eventually be disproved. So no Maker-given foresight.  
Mentioning the Old God’s blood in Sati’s body just sounds like a really terrible idea. So no ancient Tevinter blessing.  
Future-seeing Fade dreams is a pretty loose idea, and Fen-Harel’s dream-walking would tear that excuse to pieces real quick. So, not that, either.  
Neither of them is Rivani. So they’re not seers.  
Being ‘born’ with that ability is just stupid and great fucking way to have Sati made tranquil. So definitely. Not. That.

Time passes without the gathering crowd getting any answers, and Hissera can see them all growing restless. Her blood-red eyes narrow as she fears the worst can come; Cassandra’s hand sits on the hilt of her sheathed sword. Solas, and even Varric, who snuck up to join the group, look on suspiciously. _Fucking shit,_ she grits her teeth, her rational thought leaving her and being buried beneath an unfamiliar instinct to _get away fast._ Odds sure as shit aren’t in their favour, but something about Mythal’s compulsion in her system makes Hissera feel ready to hit and run rather than stick around to bank on diplomacy. There’s some logic to it, her being a cautious Vashoth in her background, but that really doesn’t make her feel any better.

Just as she opens her mouth to stall for time, the mark on Sati’s palm crackles and sparks for the umpteenth time since they awoke in the dungeons. Yet somehow, this instance feels the most significant. The two otherworlders with game-experience share a glance, and agree in a split-second on a plan without saying a word to each other.

Hissera squeezes her again, so Sati is the one to speak up. “The Mark,” she says, “It must be this. I’m getting these… _flashes,_ and feelings.” Her voice is so small and quiet, and she looks at her hand with wide, scared eyes so that when she wavers the people around them might think she fears _it_ and not _them._

Her goal? _Be as vague as possible to avoid certain death._

Cassandra appears to buy it, her brow furrowing but her hand leaving her weapon. The Seeker takes a step closer, “It appears to be guiding you. I do not know if that is a good thing.”  
Ah, Maker-faith to the rescue anyway. She’s the one whose trust matters most right now, so her words immediately give the lucky (or is it unlucky?) squad a small measure of relief. 

Hissera steadies a breath, following along because it’s genuinely their best plan of action. With a quick turn, she faces Satina and feigns worry for her smaller friend, letting go of the elf’s arm and carefully grabbing her hand to look at the mark for the first time. It looks like a scar, or an open wound, that’s a vibrant and shimmering green that crosses over the tattoo on Sati’s palm.

“The fuck is this thing?” Hissera asks aloud as her friend whimpers quietly. The qunari is laying it on thick verbally that she totally doesn’t know what the ‘Anchor’ is. An urge to get in Solas’ space and call him a fucking idiot builds quickly, and it’s really hard to fight because her freind is clearly in pain because of the damn mark.

“Weird magic shit, definitely.” Kelaca finally pipes up, posing an answer to get the subject changed. Her eyes go big and wide, an adorable expression of innocent curiosity on her face as she tries to peek at Sati’s glowing scar. What she says next doesn’t suit her harmless look. “Hey, what would happen if you tried to _open_ a rift?” 

Hissera’s face shows her sudden disconcertion. Still cradling Sati’s hand, she looks down at the dwarven girl and wonders how the _most clueless_ member of their group is the one spoiling future shit now. 

The other dwarf, a glorious man with beautiful chest hair that the trio has criminally neglected to acknowledge for more than a fleeting moment, cuts in. “Hey now,” he laughs, but doesn’t sound amused, “Let’s not be hasty.” Hissera and Sati share another glance, this one with excitement sparkling in their eyes.  
Varric Tethras, it’s _Varric goddamn Tethras._ For the girls who know and adore him from the games, the day is officially a million times better. For Kelaca, who doesn’t know him and still feels bitter about the fighting just a few minutes ago, it’s slightly worse.

“Hey, you!” She shouts, pointing her inappropriately sized weapon at him. From the end of it, there’s still a whole yard keeping them apart. 

“Yes?” Varric’s definitely amused now, smiling wryly as an ash-covered girl fixes him with an indignant glare.

“Nobody asked you!” Kelaca squeaks, the way she used to raise her voice no longer working in her favour and rising in pitch as well as volume.

Hissera laughs on the spot, letting go of Sati to put one of her larger-than-before bronze hands atop the fluffy white curls on Kelaca’s head. _“You’re so adorable!”_ She croons, and her short friend turns a bright red before turning around to kick the larger woman in her shin.

“Shuuut uuuup!”

Now Sati snorts, covering it with her right hand as the tallest and smallest begin to go back and forth, Hissera relentlessly teasing the shy Kelaca. With her attention on them, she almost doesn’t notice when Solas approaches her quietly, his posture perfect and his ornate but humble wooden staff in his grip. She stares at him again, this time without the woozy adrenaline of rift-closing addling her mind.  
With a clear head, she questions why he even bothered disguising himself as someone of ‘humble’ origins when he’s such a prideful caster. How anyone is supposed to fall for his tale of being a simple hedge-mage when nothing about his demeanor reflects that, is just _beyond_ the petite girl.

Solas is dressing the part, but he’s not acting it.

“May I take a look at the mark?” He asks, almost flatly, a steady and less excited look in his eyes than she expects from the cutscene meeting. Sati realizes she sort of stole his thunder by closing the rift without his help, so the surprise quickly abates. Still a wave of discomfort washes over her; he’s mother-fucking _Fen-Harel_ and this is all his fault. Right now he doesn’t even see her as a person because of something about everyone practically being tranquil compared to the elvhen of his time. The idea unnerves her, but she knows that Solas (and everyone, kinda) would benefit if he got to inspect the scar of his magic. 

“If you’re careful,” she says softly, lifting her left hand and facing the palm upwards, but not reaching out to him. Her whole arm still throbs and stings and _hurts like a bitch_ so even if it’s a handsome god that wants to touch her Satina’s not really keen. She seriously hopes he won’t poke at the mark. 

When the ancient mage nods to her request, he mercifully shows some thought and mostly touches the back of her hand to keep it stable. After tucking his staff into his elbow, he holds her hand in both of his own, his slender fingers tracing around the edges of the mark and tickling her skin. Hoping not to look like a fucking dork, she resists the urge to yank back her arm and make a silly noise. 

In trying not to stare at Solas, Sati hears her friends argue about _whether or not it’s fair to throw a dwarf for kicking you_ and watches as the soldiers evacuate the area, moving on to another fight somewhere. She doesn’t wait for long; Solas finishes his inspection and releases her hand carefully, his fingers uncurling from her palm. He takes a step back and gives a polite nod to acknowledge he’s done. 

Exhaling out some anxiety, the girl withdraws and pulls her brown cloak tightly around her frame for comfort. Neither Sati, nor her friends are accustomed to the avalanche of attention they’re getting now, and seriously, she’s being stared at _way_ too much! 

“It appears that you hold the key to our salvation,” Solas says then, his tone rich with relief that he seems to be feeling. Now his eyes have some light in them, though he isn’t exactly dancing or beaming with joy. The man only looks to be reassured by his assessment. 

Fur-brain elf must be realizing his giant mistake can be corrected, and Thedas isn’t doomed because of his actions. _Yet,_ Sati grimly thinks of the DLC. Fucker was sure trying to end the world, just not like this, and he’ll try again when everything is over and done.

“Good to know!” Varric shouts, nonchalantly adjusting the gloves that stretch down his forearms, his unique crossbow fastened to his back. He gains everyone's attention when he goes on, with dark cheer, “Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.” The two elves move apart and join the others while he completes his charming approach, chest hair genuinely (and tastefully) exposed.  
Kelaca and Hissera have separated, the former standing near Cassandra’s feet because the lady warrior (_knight? Paladin? Holy templar? What is she?!_) has the decency not to tease her like the qunari mage. All five stragglers watch a dwarven man with strawberry-blonde hair and a lovely red coat hold the spotlight. 

“Varric Tethras: Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally,” he isn’t very enthusiastic, but still Sati and Hissera fight to withhold impressive squeals, “-unwelcome tagalong.” When he winks, it’s in the direction of both the warriors, who groan in sync at his display.

With her sword confiscated by Hissera after the snowy-haired girl almost (accidentally) stabbed her while she was being teased, Kelaca crosses her arms and lifts her chin boldly. She addresses the redhead with her eyes sharp, “Kelaca Dovish.” His name oddly sounds familiar to her, but she puts that off on the assumption that her friends must have mentioned him around her before. “Templar, tank, and strongest motherfucker you’ll ever meet.”

_“Tank?”_ He asks.

“Tank.” She repeats.

Hissera swoops in to change the conversation’s focus, her posture perfect and even subtle aspects of her appearance are now intimidating. “It’s a pleasure to meet everyone. Hissera Kata, apostate mage extraordinaire.” No one argues, but Solas’ brows noticeably lift on his forehead. She’s a large, beautiful qunari woman without horns and definitely made a show of her magical skills in battle, but he’s a judgmental egghead through and through. 

Cassandra has no need to introduce herself; everyone in the area has already met her, or at least learned who she is. She does have the abrupt realization that she failed to ask the names of her prisoners though, and it blusters her as she listens to them all exchange their identities. In the future she suspects she will regret her first meeting with the trio, but there isn’t the time to correct it now. 

It surprises her when the shortest prisoner suddenly speaks to her anyway.

“So… is it just Cassandra?” Kelaca smiles when the brash woman’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink.

“I am the Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand to the Divine.” Cassandra’s formality makes the dwarf look at her strangely. The otherworlder is guessing that ‘Seeker’ is Thedas’ version of a Paladin, and she’s not really wrong. 

“Bit wordy, can I call you Cassandra?” It’s a cheeky yet sincere request that makes Cassandra’s lips purse, but she nods assent to the little templar.

“For now.”

The female elf brushes snowflakes and ash off of herself as they all talk, having not yet had the chance to dust off after the bridge fell apart like her friends did. Satina forgets to pay attention, absently deciding that since she already knows who everyone is, she can space out and take stock of herself. It’s fine until Hissera nudges her, much as she had the previous day, in other bodies and different circumstances.

“Hey, it’s your turn.”

Sati raises her head and her tan skin turns a soft red, and she clears her throat quietly, “Right, sorry. I’m Satina.” She finishes there, because she didn’t use the time she had to think of a clever thing to tack on.

The only guilty party within a hundred mile radius of the Breach steps forward, placing an arm across his chest and nodding to the entire group politely. “I am Solas, if there are to be introductions.” 

Quite a smooth way to call attention to himself, and appear to be of service and necessity to the next leg of the journey. He needs to inject himself into the plot; being responsible for the whole mess, Solas needs to see the extent of the damage to repair it- and look for his Orb, which he doesn’t yet know is still in Corypheus’ hands.

Knowing his true motivations, Sati and Hissera find the weakened god easy to read in this early meeting. If he’s at all the political and magical _agent_ the lore makes Fen’Harel out to be though, then this advantage is going to be short-lived. His focus turns to the previous speaker, the one wearing the mark of his failure. “I am pleased to see you still live.”

Varric interjects dryly then, smiling up at the gathered crew, “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’” Somehow the look in his rich brown eyes seems to have that same _knowing_ glint that Satina and Hissera have. Living in Kirkwall likely taught him to read the intentions of the people around him, but Varric is the sort to play it by ear and dance around his suspicions. He’s a better actor than Solas, anyway.

“How?” Kelaca asks, arms still crossed neatly under her breasts, one brow lifting as she looks over the elf’s raggard clothes and weird staff. The guy kind of looks like a druid, but it’s weird that he’s bald, unless it’s natural and he doesn’t shave it himself. Stranger still is the air of superiority just beneath the surface of his voice, immediately rubbing her the wrong way. Her _old_ instincts tell her Solas is fuckin’ shady, the new ones just help her realize why.

He turns her way, and blinks in some kind of surprise, “Magic, of course. I am well-versed with healing spells, and Lady Cassandra volunteered my services.” He has the tact to admit he was _picked_ for the duty of looking over the survivors while they were chained up, though the little dwarf lady feels like he would have tried to get involved anyway.

“Thanks, then,” she says simply, her unusual purple eyes not leaving his face. Kelaca knows she probably (definitely) looks really damn strange with her white hair and stuff- but if he’s going to gawk, then she damn well will too. At least, she assures herself, he’s a mage and if he does anything weird she can _smite_ his ass.

Solas is diplomatic, ignoring her hard stare and nodding down at the dwarven warrior calmly. His gaze then sweeps up to the reclusive elf, who moved to hide behind the brave qunari. “It will be worth thanks if we close the Breach without killing her in the process.” 

Hissera resists the urge to wave her hand at him in dismissal. Sati will be fine unless she tries to hug the pride demon or something stupid like that. Suddenly, that’s a genuine concern the tallest otherworlder has.

Quickly, Solas’ attention shifts to the human warrior, “Cassandra, you should know,” her eyes snap to his face, away from the three she’s brought this far, “-the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen.” 

Kelaca raises a brow, wondering why the input of a guy dressed in two sweaters and a ratty green vest matters. Seriously, she can tell that Varric at least knows Cassandra somehow, and Solas apparently healed Sati while they all slept, but is he the _best_ healer they have? Why is _he_ such an expert on catastrophic magic? 

He goes on speaking while she continues to stare suspiciously at the side of his face, “Your prisoner is a mage,” _way to remind us of the situation, dude._ “-but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.” _I can picture it,_ Kelaca snarks in her mind as Hissera passes her sword back over to her. She cleverly guesses the gesture must mean they’re about to move out again, since her friends likely know this exchange from a cutscene or something. 

“Understood,” Cassandra nods, then begins to march off. She’s reached the limit of her patience for conversation; the Breach rages in the sky as they idle, speaking when they ought to be _moving._ She clearly wants to protest to the two men coming along, but there isn’t time now. The Seeker scowls but addresses everyone present. “We must get to the forward camp quickly.” 

Five people move to follow her lead, leaping over a broken fence at the start of a downward path. Hissera gently ruffles Satina’s dark hair, sharing a cautious glance. She’ll have fucking _words_ for Leliana when they get there, and hopefully they can stick to their bullshit stories well enough to survive the Spymaster’s scrutiny. They get moving, Solas just behind them and making Hissera’s brow twitch with irritation. She can _feel_ the damn wolf’s eyes judge them, and spite makes her quickly brainstorm a few more creative curses to use down the road.

Taking up the rear, Kelaca and Varric are side by side, and the rogue turns his head to offer a grin. “Well,” he says, “Bianca’s excited!”

Her purple eyes narrow in confusion as she jogs beside him, _“Who’s Bianca?”_  
Catching the words over the wind, Hissera valiantly holds a cackle inside and Sati shoves her without any weight to return a warning. 

“Crossbow,” Varric answers, still grinning, “-and she’ll be great company in the valley.” Kelaca nods to agree, despite her earlier scorn for the man. She notices he keeps his hair pulled back in a short ponytail and that he doesn’t have a brand on his face. Before waking up in Thedas, Hissera mentioned a lot about how dwarves have a caste system and think the surface is cursed or looking at the sky is sacrilege. So by her understanding, he’s either nobility rebelling against ‘true dwarf’ beliefs, or he’s from above ground.

Her curiosity builds up as their party moves down another long hill, and she speaks to him as she skips down the uneven path, “Were you born on the surface?” She sees his face twist slightly from the corner of her eyes.

“Yeah, but I can tell you weren’t.” He leaves the statement open-ended, and while Kelaca doesn’t take the bait, she does respond.

“Sucks, yeah. Got a dumb mark on my face and it doesn’t even look cool.”

The rogue is quiet for half a minute, then he bursts into laughter and nods when she stares at him. “Yeah, you’re right.” He hefts his crossbow from off his back as the group of six reach the end of their sloping path, finding yet _another_ frozen river connecting to a lake in the distance. Varric tips his head at Kelaca and they ease out of conversation. 

Raising her shield, Cassandra bellows over the sound of meteors crashing.  
_“Demons ahead!”_

Great virescent green streaks plummet down and collide with the ice just below their path, and shades skirt between the party’s position and their destination. Getting through the mountains was a lot fucking easier before all the roads were destroyed by shrapnel from the temple the otherworlders slept in last night. It’s almost a sobering thought that so much is in ruins now, but it’s time for combat.

As is becoming tradition, Cassandra charges ahead, and Kelaca follows, running past her mage friends and wielding her longsword with two hands.

“Glad you brought me, Seeker?” Varric calls as demons swarm on the warriors, and the gruff woman says nothing back. 

Hissera holds her staff in both hands and grins, because the rogue is a goddamn _treasure_ and will make the rest of this shitty trip a lot more bearable. The growing number of their company is an encouraging development, because more allies means the battles are less likely to go south- and the qunari woman _really_ wants to see one of Varric’s bolts hit a wraith’s face. There’s two of the spectral-shits blocking the way to another set of stairs, the perfect lingering targets. Clicking her tongue, she takes her sweet time to gather a lot of mana into a fireball. The epic, devastating kind from _Dungeons & Dragons._

Upon the river, the little templar fights with Cassandra against a shade bigger and weirder than the ones before. It’s wearing pale gold armor in places, with large mohawk feathers on its back and two spikes on its shoulders- yeah, it’s weird. 

Flanking the enemy from behind seems like a bad idea, but she moves around to let Cassandra have a swing anyway. Kelaca slips, then falls flat on her ass, and even with Sati crying _look out_ there’s nothing the dwarf can do except roll onto her stomach when the other, normal shade throws itself at her.  
Sharp claws rake through her lavender tunic, shredding the fabric and drawing blood as dagger-like appendages cut her flesh. She yells in pain and anger, gripping her sword tight in her hands, and she pushes herself onto all fours as fast as she’s able. Crouching, Kelaca uses her momentum to twist her body and _cleave_ the demon in two. Whether from raw strength or a warrior’s ability, she severs the top half of the shade from the bottom and watches the corpse erupt into ethereal flames. 

“God-fuck ow,” she hisses quietly, forcing herself to stand up even when the open wounds on her back scream in protest. At the edge of the river, Kelaca feels a sudden, intense wave of _heat._

Two wraiths burn in a flash as bright, golden fire depletes their health to nothing before they can finish casting barriers. Hissera stands in the same place Kelaca left her behind, elevated on a ridge and her dark red eyes glittering with satisfaction. She makes a show of cracking her neck while Varric lets out a whistle behind her, unloading a bolt into an exposed cavity on the _Greater Shade._

“Good thing you’re on our side.”

“Nice to have your vote in our favour,” Hissera replies before a startling chill rushes through her body. It’s the same kind of feeling as blood-sugar being too low, but it comes from her (lack of) mana. She shakes her arms and legs to get rid of the sensation, little black spots briefly appearing in her vision. 

If Sati felt like that before the rift, Hissera thinks it’s no wonder the tiny elf dropped like a sack of potatoes. Immediately, she begins to hope that there are ways to increase someone’s mana pool, because otherwise being a mage will be significantly less fun than she thought.

Speaking of the impulsive elf, Hissera stays in place and watches Sati sprint across the river and grab Kelaca by the arms, looking totally freaked out.

“You’re bleeding everywhere!” She is freaking out.

_“I knoooow,”_ Kelaca groans, leaning on the other girl for support. The dwarf can definitely still move and she feels strong enough to know she’s not bleeding out, but damn do surface wounds sting and bleed like nobody’s fucking business.

“I don’t think I know any healing spells!”

“That’s _fiiiine,”_ Kelaca promises her panicking friend, distantly marveling at how Sati’s the one that’s worrying the most. It could be the adrenaline going through her system, but Kelaca’s had worse and doesn’t feel concerned. There’s health potions and a weird bald guy that can probably fix her up. “I’ll be okay, Sati.”

The dark-haired girl makes a noise of distress that’s likely meant to be a disagreement, and she sputters, moving to inspect her friend’s wounds. “There’s black stuff around the scratches!”

_Oh,_ Kelaca thinks, _that might not be okay._  
“Uh, you know first-aid though, don’t you?”

“I know _CPR,_ but I’ve read some books?” 

Kelaca decides right then and there that Sati needs a fucking guardian. Or two. She sees the elf reach towards her back from over her shoulder and quickly steps away.

“Do _not_ touch the black stuff!”

“What if it’s just soot? You gotta let me clean it!”

“Let ‘Era do it!”

As the smallest of the otherworlders shout back and forth at one another in an entertaining display of panic, Hissera lends support to Cassandra alongside Solas and Varric. The greater shade is quickly felled, with no more scrapes to the party but some nasty marks from heavy claws on the Seeker’s shield. A large lump of goop rests in the place of its ashes, but the remains go ignored while everyone chooses to focus instead on the injured templar.

“Solas, can you-?” Cassandra doesn’t finish her question, distracted by the ridiculous way two of her prisoners flail at one another.

_“Let me clean it!”_

_“No!”_

To the Right Hand of the Divine, it’s clearer with each passing minute she spends with the survivors of the Breach that they couldn’t _possibly_ be responsible for it. 

Varric is beginning to feel the same way; he sees regular (but still odd) people trying to face a nightmare situation they’re likely in just because of some _colossally terrible_ luck. He looks up at the gold-coloured qunari with long black hair and raises a brow, asking wryly, “Aren’t you going to help your friends?”

“I don’t know, they seem to have it in hand. What with Kels spurting blood everywhere.” Hissera snorts, but knows the other two will run in circles if she lets them go on. She makes her voice commanding and starts to cross the frozen river, “Sati, take a step back! Let me have a look at it.”

The elf obeys, but looks upset as she lingers nearby. Kelaca finally holds still, waiting for the wisest (and most sarcastic) of her friends to give aid.

Hissera bend down to one knee, closely studying the four lines scored into Kelaca’s pale skin. “It looks like soot,” she confirms, “-there’s no other discolouration, and the blood is clean. You just need to clean off.” 

Sati suppresses the urge to raise her arms triumphantly, pleased she’s right about the necessary care. “We’ll need bandages too.”

For a moment, Kelaca is the only one of the three to remember that magical healing exists, and makes eye-contact with the strange elven man, “Can you help?” She’s embarrassed by all the attention, and they kind of need to move on again- so she’ll take the suspicious guy’s assistance for the time being.

Solas nods and closes the distance between himself and their little gathering, the other two mages giving him space. He raises one open hand and holds it a few inches above Kelaca’s wounds. Suddenly his palm and fingers glow, and a pleasant warmth covers her back. She feels the same, unfamiliar tingling sensation the potion gave her, but it’s better this time. The gouges heal, her flesh knitting back together seamlessly.

When he completes his work she straightens her back and stretches, sighing in relief. “Thanks again,” she receives a nod in reply and notes in her mind that the guy mostly looks humble, but from the glint in his eyes she senses that he takes pride in his magic.

With the situation resolved at last, Hissera smirks and nudges the girl whose tunic is in tatters, “You fucking _slipped.”_

Kelaca relishes the yell Hissera lets out when she punches the mage in the side of her thigh, harder than she meant but no harm done. _“Brat.”_ The knee was a tempting thing to target, but she’s not _that_ mad.

While her friend laughs at her expense again, the dwarf whines softly. It isn’t her fault that moving on ice kinda sucks. It’s probably winter (or whatever the locals call the cold season) or the mountains they’re in are so high up that the water never melts. At least it’s lucky for them that everything frozen over has so far been sturdy enough to walk and fight on, even with Hissera’s flames and the meteors crashing into everything.

Sati gives Kelaca a sudden hug, and the shapeshifter immediately tenses up in pain. Her mark didn’t audibly crackle or anything, so the templar rolls her eyes and awkwardly pats Sati’s back. “Your tattoos still hurt, don’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah. But hey, that big shade dropped some loot.”

“Really?!” Kelaca rushes out of her friend’s embrace and forgets all about the slippery ice, going over to the demon remains with a huge grin on her face.  
_Mini-boss loot_ has _to be fucking good!_

Behind her, now both the elf and the qunari share giggles as a snowy-haired dwarf digs through bright green goo, searching for treasure. She retrieves a dark red feather, and at first she feels a prickle of disappointment. It seems lame, for a reward, but this is _reality._

Kelaca goes to touch the edge with her fingers and gasps when she finds it sharper than her _fucking sword._ It must have come from the shade’s back, which means it really is a good thing she didn’t try to attack it from behind. Having hazardous shit for rear protection also makes a little more practical sense.

Someone approaches, and she sees the ginger rogue, his arms full with his crossbow. “Well,” Varric starts talking suddenly, “-you having fun there, _Magpie?”_ He seems pretty friendly, and the warrior has to admit that his weapon looks pretty impressive- and _boy_ does she love contraptions. 

She stands up and nods her head, showing off her little prize. “Check it out.” The nickname he mentioned doesn’t even faze her, she’s too excited about loot to care. Reality can fuck off, fantasy shit is the _best._  
When he makes a comment about that being a lucky piece of loot, she quirks a smile and decides that maybe, just _maybe_ she can forgive him for taking her earlier kill when she didn’t need the assist.

Cassandra is speaking to soldiers that arrive after tracing their steps, the Seeker quickly pointing them to houses burning at opposite ends of the wide lake nearby. “Look for survivors,” she orders, and they split apart to follow her command. It’s then that Kelaca notices a small dock in front of one of the homes and guesses that the water must melt in the warmer seasons after all.

The party travels onwards without a word, the dagger-feather passing from Kelaca’s hands into Hissera’s for safe-keeping. Up more stairs, they pass ruined grounds and structures until their path takes a sharp left turn and Varric decides to address the trio leading the group.

“So… _are_ you innocent?”

“I don’t remember what happened.” Sati releases a sigh, still in pain and not really in the mood for a second interrogation. Even if she adores the rogue’s next line, she doesn’t want to chat.

“Ah,” Varric speaks with somewhat-false wisdom in his voice, “-that’ll get you everytime. Should’ve spun a story.”

“That is what _you_ would have done,” Cassandra accuses him, glaring at him as they walk side-by-side. Solas is in the rear, probably diving into his thoughts when he learns the survivors of the explosion are suffering from amnesia. Sati’s at least certain he isn’t aware of the fear demon responsible, or if he is, he’s not going to mention it, so she and Hissera won’t either.

“It’s more believable,” Varric insists, withdrawing from the Seeker’s fury but still determined to make his point, “-and less prone to result in premature execution.”

With that grim reminder hanging over their heads, Kelaca eagerly throws herself into the next round of combat. The stairs end, replaced with dirt and snow in a small cluster of woods with large boulders and ridges on either side of their cobbled, icy path. Everyone follows her example, quickly readying spells or running in to fight.

Their enemies are a repeat of the last encounter; one of each shade and two wraiths, this time in positions on opposite sides of the battlefield. Demons are just fucking everywhere, aren’t they?

It was a short, but strenuous fight; it’s too soon for the six of them to have a tangible rhythm or dynamic, but it went much more smoothly than the last battle. Kelaca survived without injury, now carrying more shadow essence tucked away in her pockets, much to the amusement of the other dwarf in the party.

Varric landed a lucky shot on the lesser shade, piercing through its head and killing it instantly. His aim proves to be absurdly good, and the reload time of his crossbow is fucking crazy. The rogue waves off Kelaca’s offer of sharing the loot, insisting she keep the _‘weird demon stuff.’_

Cassandra was the force that took down the greater shade, working in tandem with Kelaca’s strength to break through the armor the monster wore. The Seeker is an absolute _powerhouse-_ she fearlessly fought against the biggest enemy until it turned to ashes.

Solas brought up barriers on the warriors each time the greater shade readied to strike, protecting the tanks as a good support caster should. Kelaca felt weird when the blue haze washed over her skin, but a poorly dodged swipe from the demon didn’t hurt her at all, and she _whoop’d_ for joy before throwing herself aggressively at her foe. The elf isn’t _all_ bad, she decides.

Hissera’s replenished mana begged her to go all out and _burn_ everything again, but the trees nearby gave her a reason for caution. A wildfire is already one errant spark away from starting across the Frostbacks; fires blaze from wreckages in piles scattered further up the path, and the winds growing stronger as they climb higher up the mountainside. So she fought the wraiths on the outskirts of the field of combat (ghostly pricks being her new favourite target) and discovered that her magical attacks direct to where she wants them to go, which is awesome. Fighting ranged versus ranged is often the best way to avoid friendly fire, but that boon will help immensely if one of her friends is ever in danger again.

Sati struggled to cast the same light-spear spell as before, and eventually gave up, working alongside Hissera’s offensive magic to take down the spectral demons. While dodging their attacks, she dropped her staff and _instinct_ took over. She tossed the dagger from her boot at the head of the wraith farthest away and buzzed with pride when it screeched and died. The modest blade was retrieved from a pile of snow, and Hissera whistled playfully when the elven girl bent over to get it. 

The Arcane Warrior melted the snowball tossed at her head with a quick burst of fire, and Kelaca nearly fell over with laughter before the party moved on.

Hiking up the trail, levels of mana-exhaustion ebb away more quickly now; Hissera getting the beginning of her bearings on _too much_ and _too little._ It’s an instinctive balance, one she realizes she needs to build an understanding of. To her, it looks like Mythal gave her and her friends magic and skills, but left knowing (and figuring out) how to use them _completely_ up to their mortal asses.

Hissera’s pretty sure from the rough way she grips her cheap staff when she casts her spells that she’ll wind up with callouses, and an ideal improvement would be adding a fucking grip. The staff is so basic there isn’t even a blade on the bottom, just flat wood. It’s sturdy enough, but so… disappointing.

Kelaca catches her staring at her weapon as they all march ahead, and curiously chirps, “Something up?”

“Nah,” Hissera frowns softly, “-just a boring fucking staff.”

Kelaca isn’t impressed, droning, “Not to be rude, but _bitch_ you can cast _magic.”_

_“Yes,_ except the quality of a staff can limit the damage of your spells.”

“Ohhh, alright. That’s fair.”

Hissera tips her head down at the dwarf, boredom leaching into her otherwise gorgeous voice, “What about your sword? Is that what you wanted to fight with?”

“Yeah!” The templar lowers her blade into both of her hands to look at the simple structure and craftsmanship. Her eyes still sparkle even though she really wants something cooler- or bigger. “Longswords have more versatility. Sure, hammers are fun to swing around, but cleaving through monsters is pretty fun too.”

Sati sneaks her way in between them, silver eyes bright with interest, “Is it? I’d probably hurt myself with that.”

Kelaca clicks her tongue, showing some disappointment of her own, “It’s not all that sharp, but…” She glances up at the elf she’s always known to be spectacularly clumsy, “You probably would, yeah.” The three of them share a laugh then, Hissera harshly tugging back Sati’s hood to affectionately ruffle the girl’s dark, uneven hair.

“Fuck, dude, we’re going to have to work _so hard_ to keep you alive.” The teasing sentiment doesn’t disguise the worry the qunari feels for her friend. Sati has the fucking _Anchor,_ and that means she’s going to go through living hell after waking nightmare and _survive,_ or the world will end. Hissera can’t stand the fact that someone close to her is going to suffer (more than Sati already _is_), and aims a sharp glare at the back of Solas’ head. Raising her voice just to let the guilty fucker hear her, she adds, “By Fen’Harel’s mangy, _flea-ridden_ coat! Whoever’s to blame for this shit I’m going to _**castrate**.”_  
She sees his grip tighten on his staff, but of course the man says nothing. With that subject left open though, Varric decides to lean in and join their conversation.

“So, how does a dwarven templar, a qunari mage, and an unlucky elf get to be friends?”

Hissera snorts, smoothly relying on the story they created the other day, “Drinking. How does a renowned author from Kirkwall wind up at the Conclave?”

“Are you with the Chantry?” Kelaca asks him, genuinely curious. Varric laughs immediately, shaking his head.

Solas interjects after chuckling, “Was that a serious question?”

Kelaca’s ears burn red, and she glares at the elven man until Varric finally answers her, “Technically I’m a prisoner, just like you.”

“A prisoner?” Kelaca’s real lack of context for everything definitely helps pad their innocence and cluelessness. Meanwhile, Hissera and Sati have to fake it.

Cassandra speaks up from the front of the group, addressing Varric, “I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine.” Her bold voice quiets just slightly, “Clearly, that is no longer necessary.”

The rogue responds to that with words Kelaca thinks are meant to cheer up or distract the holy-warrior from her grief, “Yet, here I am. Lucky for you, considering current events.”  
She’s fairly certain she knows what Varric meant by _‘unwelcome tagalong’_ now.

“Shit’s crazy.” Hissera grunts quietly, her thoughts wandering. The second rift and the forward camp are farther than she remembers them being, their path winding a little longer and a little higher until even she feels a bit chilly. 

Everyone has to climb over a fallen log at one point, some maneuvering more gracefully than others, _read;_ Hissera versus Kelaca. Most notably, Sati’s mark _cracks_ just as she tries to hop over the obstacle, the timing just right to make her fall ass over head on the other side.

Almost painful laughter shakes in the qunari’s chest, “Holy fucking shit! You did a _flip!”_ While Sati sits dizzily slumped against the tree, she groans and manages to raise up her right hand with a rude gesture for Hissera.

“I felt that one in my _spine,”_ she whines, and Kelaca mercifully helps the slighter girl to her feet. 

Cassandra wasn’t fucking joking about the mark _killing_ Sati right now. Even with olive skin, Hissera thinks her friend looks pale now. Her red eyes narrow with worry, “Want me to carry you again?”

Sati grits her teeth and stands straight, “No, I can do this.” 

“Alright, just tell me if you change your mind.” Hissera doesn’t doubt the elf’s conviction, but she’s recalls the nasty falls and the screams her friend couldn’t suppress earlier. She expects Sati can make it to the next checkpoint, but sealing the Breach… 

Well it’s no surprise the ‘Herald’ passes the fuck out for _three days._

“I hope Leliana made it through all this.” Cassandra speaks a line that gives Hissera some relief, knowing what they’re approaching now. 

“She’s resourceful, Seeker.” Varric still brings his crossbow into his arms when he notices the supposed future-seeing girl draw her knife into her hand.

While passing an overhanging wall of rock dripping with giant icicles that reach the floor, Solas chimes in, “We will see for ourselves at the forward camp, we are almost there.”

_No shit._  
Hissera valiantly resists voicing her snarky thought as the party comes up a short hill and right fucking ahead of them is a stone bridge with a grand door. A second stupid rift is just _sitting_ in front of their precious checkpoint, annoyingly blocking greater progress. 

The mage suddenly wonders how Leliana even got around the rift when nobody will open the door until it’s gone- did it appear _after_ the bard arrived? She shakes the curious idea from her head and sighs, preemptively preparing herself for the _oh so lovely_ conversation that awaits them all in the forward camp.

“Another rift!” Cassandra shouts, unsheathing her sword and charging off ahead to fight the swarming demons.

“We must seal it, _quickly!”_ Again, Solas states the obvious.

A soldier tucked behind a broad metal shield calls out to their group, “They keep coming, help us!” Acidic fire thrown by a wraith ruthlessly splatters against the man’s only defense, and Cassandra attacks the ghostly creature without hesitation. She charges it, raising her own shield and rushing into the enemy like a human battering-ram. A hollow screech rings out, and with a chance to breathe, the soldier lifts and swings his sword right through the middle of the wraith. Already somewhat damaged, the blow mercifully kills the demon and sends threads and pieces of it flying towards the crackling rift- sucked back into the fade. 

Hissera and Kelaca target the same monster next, moving on the offensive. The warrior races up to a rotting shade dirtying the snow it drags across, only seeing her approach a second before her blade comes down and cuts off one of its bony arms. A fireball catches on its armor and the creature’s limb writhes on the ground. Kelaca shudders in disgust and quickly jams her sword up into her angry foe’s gut. Thankfully, all parts of the demon burn away when it dies, but unlike at the last rift she notices the green flames be drawn into the glowing, floaty crystal. 

_Fucking weird,_ she thinks, her mind ready to question why- but a shiny blue barrier washes over her skin, saving her from a projectile sent by the second wraith. “Thanks!” She yells out, not even bothering to search for the person responsible. It’s time to fight, and _not_ get side-tracked.  
Maybe _later_ she can ask that bald mage about the demons at this rift, though.

Hissera is starting to question how the fuck _runes_ work. Unable to get one of her more impressive hexes to work, she groans and tries to picture one of the primal trap-spells instead. She charges her staff with mana- but nothing special happens while her dwarven friend races up to strike the wraith she’s been trying to debuff. It isn’t working; either from her not knowing what it should look like, or just _not doing it right._ It goes without saying that the latter possibility is slightly more irritating than the former.  
Feeling frustrated, she focuses instead upon her friend’s weapon, channeling her mana over a distance until she catches something- _a spark._

In a flash, Kelaca’s sword lights up with golden fire, and to her credit the shortstack only _kind-of_ squeals in surprise. 

“Holy shit!” She shrieks, and Hissera snorts in amusement. Kelaca quickly and very, very happily adjusts to the change. Her flaming weapon swings in a broad arc and cuts the wraith through from shoulder to hip. Gold blazes the demon from within- killing it in a heartbeat, and a victorious battle-cry leaves her lips. _“Fuck yeaaah!”_

They’re actually showing some kind of teamwork, and in her book, that’s absolutely cause to celebrate. She thinks Cassandra looks approving when the ‘Seeker’ glances her way, and that gives her a sudden rush of relief. If flaming weapons were somehow a _no-no_ she would _one-hundred percent_ bitch about it for as long as she lives. 

Magic is so fucking cool.

Hissera feels a measure of pride when _finally_ one her spells works as she desires, and it’s icing on the cake when, after the initial casting, she learns it takes very little of her mana to maintain. It certainly drains her pool, but slowly enough that she holds it up until the fighting is over.

Dark emerald quartz explodes into a web of light once the final shade dies by Cassandra’s sword. Thanks to the video game logic: _kill X number of enemies before you can close the rift,_ Sati is already crouching beside the rip in the Veil, prepared to magically link with the weird wobbly portal floating just above the ground. Her open palm connects to the tear and her braced arm trembles violently when the newly-formed tether wildly flicks around.

_“I’m not scared of you, fucker,”_ she grumbles. The petulant remark actually helps her bravery, because mocking the freaky rift is kinda fun. 

Her colourless eyes narrow with sharp concentration as she fights the push-and-pull of the Veil more easily than last time. Now that Sati knows what to expect, she seeks out what she needs, yanks the rift shut, and doesn’t even tip over again. It helps that she’s already on the dirt, but semantics don’t dampen her success.

Sighing in relief, the elf stands and shivers to shake off the distorting feeling it left her with. Sealing rifts is weird shit. When Hissera walks up with raised brows and a bit of a smirk, the two girls both raise their fists and bump them together. Kelaca runs over, her sword no longer on fire, and immediately begins to chatter away about how fighting demons is _fucking sweet._

“Okay but-”

Behind her, Cassandra shouts to the soldiers in the area, “The rift is gone! Open the gate!”

“-hear me out ‘Era, can you set other things on fire without melting them? Like say, armor, arrows, or me?”

The pair of mages laugh while the rest of their allies move in, save for the Seeker that busies herself with helping a wounded man to his feet. Eventually Hissera shrugs, unsure about what magic can do in reality versus the constraints of video games and rules.  
Lore can’t exactly help her much here, can it? Magic is pure willpower in Thedas, but earlier she couldn’t cast what she wanted. Is she trying too hard to understand how it works? _Ugh, psychology._

“With practice, who knows?” The qunari muses, ruffling her friend’s fluffy white hair, “The sword was kind of easy.”

“Please, please do this _always,_ it’s awesome.” Kelaca pleads with her, and Hissera licks her dry lips.

Gripping her staff firmly, the mage agrees, “Alright, but only when it’s actually useful. Some enemies are fire-resistant.” 

“You know which ones?”

“Some dragons, rage demons, other annoying beasts? I think we’ll figure it out, Kels.”

_On the subject of magical lore…_  
Hissera looks up as Solas nods in ‘polite’ acknowledgment when he passes them by, speaking, but only to the elven prisoner, “We are clear for the moment, well done.” His blue eyes have some kind of thoughtfulness, and even though that compliment is probably half-hearted, Sati returns his nod with one of her own. She feels slightly little light-headed all of a sudden, but attributes that to her adrenaline dropping again.

Varric follows the hedgemage’s lead and comments on her situation, giving her and the mark a large berth as he walks toward the gate. “Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful.” He looks at her wide-eyed face and turns away with a quiet chuckle, likely pitying her or finding some dark irony about this all.

Suddenly, Hissera slaps her pointy-eared friend on the back, eliciting a pathetic squeal, and voices her own sentiment. “I can’t believe the fate of Thedas rests in your feeble hands.”

“Yeah?” Sati isn’t really asking her, wryly curling her lips as Cassandra ushers them onto the bridge. This one won’t explode, so she doesn’t complain. _“Neither fucking can I.”_

Their feet step onto solid stone brick, and subconsciously they all wonder who the hell built all these giant structures in the mountains. While the qunari snorts thinking of the cultists who used to live in these parts, Kelaca whistles dramatically through her teeth at the sight of the ‘forward camp’ everyone made such a big deal about reaching. 

At first it seems kind of pathetic, but she quickly realizes that most of the forces (soldiers, templars, mages maybe) are actually out fighting. The dozen or so people that remain here are tasked with tending to wounded, doling-out supplies, and praying for a goddamn miracle. Her pretty purple eyes arc up to look at Sati, and the weight of what her friends just said hits her at last. 

_Sati is the miracle._

“Oh god,” Kelaca laughs with fear lacing her voice, “-this whole campaign is gonna be one big escort-mission.” 

The elf’s face twitches, and she trips the dwarf without any remorse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will also be two weeks from now; this extension gives me time to make bigger and better-edited chapters. In the future I might still release smaller chapters between big ones, but only for _special_ events.
> 
> [What was your favourite bit?  
Mine was Sati chasing an injured Kelaca around on the ice!  
Enigma's was Hissera saying "bearded ballsack"]


	9. The Mountains We Face (and people we suffer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 75 Kudos?! Wow!! Thanks so much, comments and kudos are really encouraging!  
If you're confused by some of the tags changing, read the post-chapter notes!

Even as they hear Leliana shout in barely-contained fury and Roderick scream with cowardly pride farther down the camp, the otherworlders agree through a profound psychic connection to take their sweet time crossing the stone-brick bridge.

_“We must prepare the soldiers!”  
“We will do no such thing!”_

Still close to the gate, Kelaca roots through a big, open chest for a few health potions. Pocketing a pair for herself, she distributes more to the rest of the party. Sharing glances amongst each other, it seems that the paladin, egg, and unwelcome tagalong too, have a deep and powerful understanding with the trio- to let the scary redhead and the angry cleric just go back and forth. 

_“The prisoner must go to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It is our only chance!”  
“You have already caused enough trouble without resorting to this exercise in futility.”_

Cassandra passes around waterskins she receives from a young chantry sister, and immediately the hungover members of the group take eager gulps to quench a thirst they suppressed until now. None of them have had any water since they woke up in Thedas, just some booze the day before, and it’s a refreshing, wonderful gift from the gods. Hissera nods in genuine gratitude to the holy warrior, leaning on her staff as they all stand in place for a moment. Kelaca has her whole head tipped back, trying to drown herself in water that she’s so, so happy is clean and ice-cold, and suffers from her hubris when the purple-nun farther down the bridge’s bitter tone goes from zero to one-hundred.

_“**I** have caused trouble?”  
“You, Cassandra, the Most Holy- haven’t you all done enough already?”_

Recovering from a choking fit, the short girl gets a half-hearted pat on the back from her elven friend. Hissera confiscates their waterskin and Kelaca’s weapon then, flicking the dwarf on the forehead and expectantly dodges a petulant kick sent her way. Satina, in her neurotic fashion, tries to ignore all the conflict by focusing intently upon her marked left hand. After they settle down, wordlessly, her fellow otherworlders choose to do the same and inspect her glowing, viridescent scar. It slashes over the red tattoo on her palm, sparking impressively when the Breach rumbles across the mountains. Thundering like the sky, the voices from afar come to a tumultuous conclusion.

_“You’re not in command here!”  
“Enough! I will not have it!”_

On that shining resolution, all six fighters gradually turn and resume their passage across the bridge. They try not to look at the semi-covered bodies laid out on the ground and piled up in a wagon, looking straight ahead and nodding to the soldiers they walk by. Nearly each figure at the sidelines stares on as the bedraggled party approaches a shoddy desk and wide tent that function together as the forward camp’s base of operations. Maps and quills and reports litter the table’s surface; notably, a dagger sits embedded in one open letter and renders part of the message indecipherable, while another is scorched and half-eaten by acid. 

Leliana senses their nearing presence and looks over, her gaze still sharp with wrath and grief. Dark eyes land on Cassandra, and her expression quickly loses its fire to make way for surprise. Her French-like accent calls out _‘you made it’_ before the oddly-dressed man beside her can do more than open his mouth. Relief echoes in the threads of her voice, her posture straightening like a massive weight has slipped off her shoulders. “Chancellor Roderick,” Leliana introduces the grumpy coward, who’s apparently much older than he looked from afar, and really pieces just _line up_ and Kelaca already hates the sour prune on principle. “These are-”

“I know who they are.” Rude-religious man interrupts her, and Hissera holds in a snort when Leliana’s face flashes with _murder_ when he isn’t looking. The red-haired woman is so obviously _done_ with the guy hanging around that even Kelaca, to whom the pretty bard’s reputation is unknown, is surprised he’s still breathing. When their group comes to a stop in front of the desk, Sati’s face turns blank and she intentionally spaces out as Roderick gets louder and more unlikable. “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take these criminals to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

_**Execution?!**_  
Kelaca’s ready to fucking throw fists, but Cassandra’s pissed off response stops her. “‘Order me’?” The Seeker echoes his haughty command, her tone livid from shock. Kelaca cheers her on with their _totally real_ psychic link to _tear the bedsheet-wearing **fuck** a new one._ “You are a glorified clerk. A bureaucrat!” 

“And you are a thug,” Roderick replies arrogantly, twisting his face up, “-but a thug who supposedly serves the Chantry!” 

“You can’t talk to her that way!” Kelaca angrily shouts, knuckles turning white against her palms, weaponless so she’s less intimidating than she wishes. Her sword is still in Hissera’s hands, and now she wonders if it was taken from her for a _reason._ Cassandra might’ve pissed her off when they met, but the Paladin-Seeker lady is already growing on her.

The dark-haired woman looks surprised by Kelaca’s outburst, even more so by how the dwarf came to her defense. She furrows her brow, staring at the short, oddly-coloured girl, and they share a glance as Roderick sputters.  
Hissera smirks, sensing the hidden significance of this exchange.

_ **Cassandra Approves** _

Leliana turns her own gaze away from Kelaca, back to the stuffy old man, “We serve the Most Holy, Chancellor, as you well know.” Her diplomacy skill is astounding. She doesn’t sound or even look as pissed as she is.

Roderick chooses to paint himself in an unpleasant light, morosely and bluntly declaring, “Justinia is dead!” His expression turns from furious to regretful, and he adds more softly, “We must elect her replacement, and obey _her_ orders on the matter.” Kelaca hates to admit that the man is right. She hates it so much she ignores it.

_“Uh,”_ she says loudly, all eyes shifting to her short frame, “What about the big-ass HOLE in the sky?”

Hissera’s arms cross and she backs up her tiny companion, “Shouldn’t we handle that before it swallows the world?” She levels a hard stare on the chanty man she’s _never_ been fond of; he may chose to do the right thing when lives are on the line later, but he’s such a fucking stodgy _asshole._

He whips his attention to the prisoners and snarls, pointing an accusatory finger (Hissera fights the urge to grab and break it) towards the dwarf and qunari, _“You_ are the ones who brought this on us in the first place!”

_“No,”_ Kelaca mimics his aggressive tone, “We didn’t!” Her patience with this guy is drying up fast. The sky is literally ripping apart, one of her friends is fucking dying, and he wants to waste time whining about this being a lost cause?! He’s so cowardly it makes her feel sick!  
Just as Roderick suggests the Seeker call a retreat, Kelaca speaks over him, “Hey, Cassandra, can you lead the way to the Breach?”

Cassandra, the woman that Kelaca appreciates more by the minute, gives her a nod. “The path is laid with demons, but with a unified charge we can reach the Temple.”

Roderick makes a sound of protest that ultimately goes ignored as Leliana steps forward, apparently inspired, “That may not be our safest route, Cassandra. The soldiers could charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path.” The warrior’s expression twists again, her dark eyes filling with conflict. “It’s too risky.”

“Listen to me,” Cheeky Roadblock slips back into the discussion, a big ol’ pessimistic prune. “Abandon this now before more lives are lost.” The grim, depressing way Roderick almost _pleads_ with the Hands of the dead Divine nearly elicits some pity for the old man. Kelaca can read every bit of him, and she clearly sees that the old man is drowning in the epic proportions of a horrifying tragedy. His defeatist, crotchety attitude still bothers her a lot, but fuck, she does _not_ envy his position. 

It stands then that they need to choose a path (because they’re certainly not retreating), but Kelaca doesn’t know what’s best, and Hissera… The qunari woman looks as if she’s only thinking about crushing Roderick like a bug, or maybe she’s waiting for something.  
The little dwarf groans and rubs her eyes with her fists, “How many scouts are up there? _Why_ does everybody else need to charge if we go rescue them?”

“Eight,” Leliana instantly supplies the information. They’re probably her scouts, Kelaca realizes, and she listens as the redhead goes on, “We have no idea how many demons are laid on that path, the scouts were to discover that…” Her eyes harden, her back straightens again, this time like a mask slips onto her visage, “Noise from a great fight could draw most of the demons down and out of your way.”

Hissera frowns, cutting in impatiently, “But we don’t know that for _sure._ You have templars lingering around, don’t you? Have them form a wall and channel a shit-ton of energy, that would draw demons a lot faster.”  
Her plan isn’t spectacular and she knows it, but it’s better than wasting some of the Inquisition's early forces on something that probably didn’t even do anything in the game. The moral decision the protagonist is first expected to make is to rescue the scouts rather than leave them to die, but that scenario would too easily colour a perception in the player’s mind that there’s always a ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ option in the game’s choices. So the developers (or writers, whoever) yadda-yadda’d some crap about how you need to sacrifice an unknown number of soldiers to save the scouts. Fucking what-_ever._ There’s no need for that bullshit now that she’s at the helm.  
“Have the soldiers just fight anything that comes in, don’t throw everybody into the swarm, fuck.” Hissera finishes, leaning on her staff and waving her free hand at the Spymaster. “You can figure out something better, right?”

Leliana gives her a firm nod, and the mage sighs in relief. She can only hope that in the future, handling the bumbling idiocy of a couple default choices will go without anybody annoyingly protesting any smarter options because of pride or cowardice. The decision to go through the mountains hasn’t officially been made yet though, and Hissera entertains herself with the temptation to count down on her fingers the second that the ‘Herald’ will be drawn back in.

It comes shortly.  
Cassandra opens her mouth to say something, but the Breach thunders and expands, and Sati is painfully jolted out of her head and into the moment. _“Kaffas!”_ She hisses, gripping her left wrist tightly to stem off the agony lancing up her arm from the Mark. Her eyes widen, quickly looking down at herself, _did I just swear in Tevene?_ The elf is so stuck on that freaky question she misses when the Seeker asks for her thoughts, and glances up to see everyone staring at her. 

_Oh god, this really sucks._ Having missed everything that was said, she takes an educated guess that it’s time to pick Route A (mountain mines fun time) or Route B (something something lame charge). Her real perplexity comes through then, showing on her face. “You’re asking for _my_ opinion?” Seriously, why though?

Satina makes a list in her head of everything the Seeker has seen her do so far:  
\- Whine a lot  
\- Freak out (for no obvious reason)  
\- Fall over a couple times  
\- Turn into a nug  
\- Pass out  
\- Pretend she can see the future

The elven girl immediately blames that last thing on why _anyone_ wants to know what she thinks. _Man, I really fucked myself with that._

“You have the mark,” Solas says behind her, and her eye twitches. _Yeah, and thanks for that, stupid egg._

“And you are the one we must keep alive,” Cassandra carries on when Sati looks to her, “-if you are not able to make the trip through the mountains, we can still charge with our forces.”

_Oh right, I’m totally dying right now._ Thinking about the game instead of that awesome fact, Sati remembers the freezing ladders and the small fights scattered in the mines. Route A is definitely the faster option, and probably way less exhausting than more rounds of combat and watching a whole lotta soldiers die in person. Picking that path means the three of them won’t meet Cullen until later, but well, that’ll be fine, she decides. “I’ll survive the mountain pass.” 

Hissera nudges the elf and wiggles her fingers to silently imply that Sati should use some ‘magical foresight’, the gesture confusing the locals slightly. It’s not a bad plan to emphasize her fake prophecy power early on and earn themselves some wiggle-room down the line… So long as the shapeshifter does a good job faking it and doesn’t fuck up.

With a soft nod to her taller friend, Satina then looks down at her marked palm for emphasis as she speaks up, “I can see your scouts, they’re fighting a rift.” That definitely draws some suspicious stares from Leliana and Roderick, who the three otherworlders abruptly remember were _not_ around for the future-seeing talk back on another mountainside. She swallows and clenches her hand into a fist, trying really hard to show her conviction. _“If we don’t go to help them, they’ll die.”_

It’s enough of a plea to sway even Cassandra, who raises her head high, eyes gleaming with strained courage. “Leliana,” the redhead meets her stare, poised and ready for action. “Bring everyone in the valley. Everyone.” 

Leliana darts off, her chainmail tunic not making a sound as she slips past everyone and begins to round up the few scouts stationed nearby just for her to command. Sati hears the start of her instructions, but the sky thunders and she focuses upon her shuffling friends instead. This is the part in the game where it fades to black and you teleport to a new zone… but… 

That doesn’t happen now, obviously.

She and Hissera groan together at the inconvenience of _reality,_ Kelaca making grabby hands at her weapon. “Come on guys, quit whining, we’ve got more monsters to kill!” The grin on her soft face is mischievous, something in her says that her friends are being big babies right now.

Hissera passes the longsword over to the dwarf, glaring without any fire, “Yeah, a _lot_ more.”

Kelaca laughs, “Sweet!”

While the Seeker wanders off to spread her own orders, the only rogue in the party steps in to chat, eyes trained on the three under suspicion, “Since we’ve got a minute… why don’t we talk about where all of us are from?” Hissera senses Varric’s true intent, aware he’s rightfully prying into their business. As of the moment, there isn’t any proof they _didn’t_ do this. Her arms cross under her breasts as people bustle about, scrambling to fulfill new tasks and yet still taking the time to glance at her and her friends with fear or hatred in their eyes. 

“I’m from a lot of places, most recently all of us stayed in Kirkwall.” She sees his brows raise up, but feels certain she can pass any test he could bring her. Haven might have been bigger and different from the game, but the landmarks remained. Hissera played _Dragon Age II_ enough times to get annoyed with the repetitive environments and understand that depending on their world state, Varric might’ve had shitty enough time in that city that he won’t want to talk about it.

“Really? How long?” He does a marvelous job of sounding casual.

“Few months,” Hissera doesn’t hesitate, shrugging and playing it cool. “I didn’t keep track, mostly ran and hid from people while I was there. They’re rightfully not so fond of qunari, not quite so rightfully of me.”

Varric nods then, looking at her and remembering a few years past, “Yeah, a whole boatload of apples can spoil the rest of the barrel for most folk. The cheerless bunch was alright, until they tried to take over the city and kill everyone.” He smiles without any joy, tipping his head thoughtfully to her, “But I’m guessing you don’t actually follow the Qun, do you? You’re Tal-Vashoth.”

Hissera smirks, just as wryly responding, “Gee, what gave it away?”

He gestures at the weapon she has tucked in her arms, “Well for starters, the staff.”

“And I’m not spouting any creepy sermons, right?”

Varric chuckles, “I’d say that’s pretty telling, yeah.” 

Kelaca and Satina begin to talk amongst themselves, the templar chirping, “Riiight, ‘Era mentioned they do fucked up shit to their mages.”

“No one’s exactly nice to their mages, but I’d say the Qun takes the brutal cake.”

Hissera clicks her tongue then, drawing the attention of those around her, “I’m actually _Vashoth,_ I was never part of the Qun. Which, you know, means my lips were never sewn shut.” 

All the mages present grimace, Varric’s face falling for a moment. He rallies when Sati slips in place behind the scuffed up qunari, smiling sincerely as she nuzzles Hissera’s shoulder blade, “Be a shame, your voice is _so pretty.”_

Laughing, Hissera turns and taps the elf on her nose, “It’d be a crime against the world to shut me up.” 

“Though I’ve certainly tried,” Kelaca sighs, dramatically tipping back her head with a large sigh. 

Without any venom in her glare, Hissera hisses, “I _will_ dangle you over this bridge.”

Kelaca raises her sword as she snorts, “Yeah?” Her grin is challenging, “Fuckin’ try me.” A passing chantry sister gasps, fearfully rushing on with her arms full of bandages and her gaze stuck on the stone ground. The templar winces, lowering her weapon back against her shoulder, “Okay then. This really does look bad for us, doesn’t it?”

“Oh _no,_ it’s not as if we’re the only suspects,” Sati whines, deciding to pick at the tattered hole in her cloak. Everything will turn out alright later, but at the moment, shit just sucks and the dark judgement looming over their heads is bringing out some anxiety in the three of them.

Grimly, Hissera adds her piece, “Anyone that could vouch for us is probably dead, and nobody around here knows who the fuck we are.” Conversation drifts away for a moment, and subconsciously, the entire party shuffles off to one side of the bridge, leaving the middle clear for busy figures going past. Eventually, the three otherworlders hop onto the ledge beside a few crates, facing away from the Breach and keeping their hands close to their laps. 

For a few minutes, they’re left unbothered. 

Kept secure between her worrying friends, Sati leans on Hissera, whose arm drapes around her back to grip Kelaca’s hand. Thedas is tearing apart at the seams behind them, but they’re still together- still _alive._ The shapeshifter mumbles a sparing thought, “You know… I wonder if I can turn into a plant.”

Hissera lets out a harsh puff through her nose, “Probably not?”

Going on anyway, the elf muses, “But they’re living things? And think about it, I could just be a happy sunflower or a nice stalk of elfroot minding my own business- and poof!” She gestures with both her hands, nearly tipping backwards and held upright by the girls beside her. “The element of surprise! No expects to be attacked by a plant.”

Sitting up straight, the curly-haired dwarf tugs on Hissera’s bronze hand, “Can shapeshifters do that?” Kelaca’s eyes are sparkling, enjoying any and all silly gimmicks for combat.

“How the fuck should I know?”

Solas’ not at all condescendingly warm voice reaches all their ears as he chimes in, “And here you proclaimed yourself a mage extraordinaire.” His eyes narrow subtly, “Surely you must know everything about magic.”

_What a dick,_ Hissera thinks, not even bothering to hide her irritation when she replies almost sardonically. “Just as I’m sure _you know,_ some mages learn from experience. You’re clearly not from a circle, as a fellow apostate,” she relishes the displeased wrinkle of his composure from comparing the two of them, “-what can you tell me about shapeshifters? They’re so very rare, what could you know?” She’s practically daring the ancient egg to flaunt knowledge that _he_ shouldn’t have, because his rude ass deserves some prodding.

“I must admit, there is little I understand of shapeshifters, but I am absolutely certain they cannot transform into botanical life.” Solas turns his attention to the squirming elf girl, “You are not a Dalish elf, where did you learn such an obscure art?”

“Didn’t,” Sati shrugs and quickly flips the subject. “How do you know I’m not Dalish?”

His posture straightens, the proud wolf puffing out his fur, “At first glance, to humans, qunari, and dwarves you may appear to be wearing vallaslin. However, the markings on your face and hands are not of Dalish origins.” It’s a bit like he’s throwing shade on anyone that isn’t an (_ancient_) elf.

She raises her brows, following Hissera’s lead to give him no straight answers, “Spend a lot of time with clans?”

Solas does have a story prepared, unlike their squad, and seems mostly unfazed by their resistance. “Unfortunately,” he begins, “My experiences with Dalish clans have not been what you would call pleasant. I approached, offering to share knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition.”

Kelaca’s eyes narrow while a look of confused discomfort takes presence on her cute face, resting her cheek in one hand, her sword propped against the ledge she sits on. She can’t help voicing her thought, “Maybe don’t push your stuff onto them? Even if you disagree, you could try respecting their beliefs.”

Possibly for the benefit of their group’s tentative dynamic, Solas doesn’t have the opportunity to reply; suddenly the five of them are joined once again by Cassandra. The Seeker carries a few folded bundles of lumpy and mismatched cloth with irregular clumps of fur and fluff sticking out in places. Two soldiers stand behind her, one’s arms loaded with odd straps and things, the other with a large tan sack gripped in his hands. They actually need to _prepare_ for the rest of the journey, and fucking hell- none of them have eaten all goddamn day. So surely, it must be supplies. 

Their assumptions prove to be right, as coats are distributed and dry food is given out from the awkward pillowcase Soldier #2 holds. 

“You may have survived the climb so far, but up the mountain ahead it will become freezing,” Cassandra explains, personally transferring her pile off to the prisoner closest to her, the clueless dwarf. Kelaca smiles and passes the largest of the three garments to her friends, noting that the human warrior dons a thick plum cloak coated with ash she wasn’t previously wearing. Keeping a long-sleeved, fleece-lined and hooded coat for herself, she pulls it on and ties up leather laces on the front until she’s securely wrapped in warmth. It’s soft, cozier than she would expect from something that was probably scrounged up from around the makeshift forward camp. 

Giving Cassandra a grateful nod, Kelaca then accepts some bread and a tiny bag of salted nuts from Soldier #2. She steals the waterskin from Hissera, and after scarfing down her food, she takes a long, more careful drink.

Hissera drags a large, dark vest onto her body, layered with cotton inside and framed by fur at the sleeves and collar. She guesses it’s ram skin and fur, based on the white and brown flecked hairs. It’s nice to discover she isn’t allergic, but Mythal’s basket of surprises isn’t going to stop spitting out poison with the presents. Fastening six buttons, Hissera finds that her slightly larger fingers struggle with the precise task, and that really spoils her fucking mood. She takes a loaf of bread and some mystery jerky from the sack of food, and eats almost ravenously.

Sati needs to take off her cloak for a moment to tug a thick, cream-coloured sweater made of wool over her head. Her ears almost catch on the knitted structure, but she wiggles through and shivers when she adjusts to the insulated feeling. She reattaches her worn cloak and smiles, taking half the split loaf from her fellow mage, satisfied by the bread and thanking the man that brought everyone food. He startles, but nods to her before leaving alongside Soldier #1, who delivered sheaths for each of them to wear for their weapons.

The waterskin gets passed around until it’s empty, and each of the three idiots is temporarily stunned when the charming rogue hands off a shiny, half-bruised apple to the weak little elf. He smiles, a bit more genuinely, pity in his chestnut eyes. “You’re going to need the energy, Sprout.”

“Sprout?” Sati echoes, her heart fluttering with well-contained excitement.

Varric nods, stepping back as she bites into the apple, “Somehow you keep popping right back up no matter how many times you fall over, and that thing about turning into a plant-” He shakes his head with a chuckle, crossing his arms beneath the heavy shawl he received. “-I’d say it suits you.”

Not even trying to hide her pleased smile, Sati nods and swallows, “I like it.”

Cassandra shuffles on her feet, staring off in the distance at the roaring Breach over the heads of her prisoners, and Kelaca calls up to the woman, “So Cassandra, where are you from?”

Blinking once, the Seeker composes herself and briskly answers, “Nevarra, but I have not been there for quite some time.”

“Where’s Nevarra?” Kelaca asks, trying to get a bit of a bearing on what the hell Thedas’ continental layout is like. Are they anywhere near a coast? Are they up North, or down South?

“Far North, across the Waking Sea,” Cassandra replies, studying the strange dwarven girl again. She adjusts her cloak, her eyes narrowing slightly, “We ought to get moving soon, when Leliana gives us word we’ll depart immediately.”

Deciding to help out, Hissera leans forward to look off to her right, “Remember when we were in Kirkwall?” She pokes Kelaca’s shoulder from around Sati, going on, “It’s a lot more North than there.” 

Kelaca makes a believable sound of having some revelation, when the qunari woman knows that her friend must still be heavily oblivious. Fuck, they really wish they’d had a chance to prepare for getting tossed into a fantasy world, but why would Mythal ever be that considerate to their mortal asses? This has to be for her amusement or something, because there’s _got_ to be better people for the job of saving Thedas.

“Well I guess that answers one of my questions,” Varric says suddenly, and Kelaca looks over at him.

“What?”

“If you grew up underground or not.”

Somehow, Varric’s idea makes her ears burn and she frowns, “So what if I did?”

The man raises his hands innocently, “Nothing, but usually the only way up for a casteless dwarf is through the carta. Which brings my next question, where the hell does a carta dwarf learn to be a templar?”

“Hey, I don’t know! I don’t remember much of anything!” She sticks out her tongue, getting a little frustrated and hoping he’ll buy her excuse. Kelaca isn’t technically hiding anything, lying just to protect the fact that she has absolutely no idea what her character’s- what _her_ background is.  
Why oh _why_ did she have to focus on her stats of a strength-build rather than story?

Sati shrugs and nudges her shorter companion, supplying a bit of a cover, “You didn’t tell us, sorry Kels. I think I’m a little fuzzy, but not as much as you.”

The dwarf whines and leans against the elf, “This whole thing sucks. I don’t even know why we came here in the first place.”

“I can’t remember that either,” Hissera stretches her shoulders and slips off the edge of the bridge, standing up on her feet. 

Talking amongst themselves and forgetting the three witnesses to their exchange, Sati chirps, “Was it to see the talks? Or to meet up with Julia?” The name flips on her tongue without any struggle, she said _Zander_ in her head, but it came out different.

“When I get my hands on that bitch-princess,” Hissera begins, almost growling as she grabs her staff and hooks it to her back, her friends following suit to ready for travel. “-I’m going to throttle his ass for making us worry.” Her idiot cousin just _had_ to challenge the freaky dungeon master, didn’t he?

Taking her own staff (and struggling to get it in place), Satina laughs, “In all fairness, he’s probably worried about us too.” She may not have figured out how to use the magical stick-focus, but in a pinch she can copy Hissera and smack something with it.

“Cassandra, everything is prepared. Commander Cullen is overseeing our forces.” Leliana arrives just as Kelaca finishes stretching and grabs hold of her sword, shiny purple eyes looking up at the woman whose face still appears to be stuck with a bitter taste. With a nod, the human warrior begins to march to the end of the bridge, another identical wooden gate opening while five figures hurry to follow. Kelaca notices surprise flash though Hissera and Sati’s expressions when the mysterious (and slightly scary) ginger lady steps in line behind their group.

Apparently, the Nightingale is tagging along- probably with a few unseen scouts ready to come along their trail. Wonderful.

Every step drags on closer to the only mountain left standing between them and the temple, and Kelaca sighs in pure relief when their great, hurried hike yields results. “My little legs, thank fuck.” They reach a wide platform made of pale wooden planks at the bottom of what looks to be a total of three old ladders stuck to stone-brick towers. Shoddy fences line the otherwise well-maintained structures and a weird, rusty metal wheel dangles from the first tower. It’s a long way up now, but climbing feels like a pleasant reprieve from the restless trek to this shortcut.  
Along the way, the seven of them came across sparse, solitary demons easily cut down by swords, arrows, and bolts of magic- the plan for a distraction apparently reaping immediate rewards. Their trail wound high, through unfamiliar passes and over sketchy ridges lacking in obvious traces of other travelers. If Leliana’s scouts took their same path, they left no tracks in the dirt or snow, possibly out of habit. A stroke of good luck put no meteors crashing in their vicinity, allowing the party to make swift progress and race past trees and rocks as icy winds and heavy snowflakes clung to their bodies. Even with their added layers, all of them felt the growing chill dull their nerves.

It’s quickly agreed that Satina be the first to go up the ladders, so her hands wrap around frosted rungs and pull her skyward. She’s quick; fearing another shock from the Breach and also her currently inevitable demise. The elf understands that she’s leading to guarantee that should anything happen, someone will remain below to catch her. She finds that comforting, and thinks that if she didn’t enjoy climbing, then this would certainly suck.

_“This fucking sucks!”_ Hissera shouts from beneath her, and Sati almost chokes on a laugh.

“Why!” Her elven hearing lets her catch a frustrated growl over the howling gales.

“Shit. Shit fuckin’ _balls shit-fuck. Fuck this!”_ The qunari starts to hum a melody in angry distress, staring straight ahead at the bricks through the first ladder. Heights are absolutely the worst, she doesn’t mind the view but _oh god-fucking hell if she falls she’s sure she’ll wind up crippled._ “Fuuuuck _thiiiis!_ Fuck, fuuuuuuck shit fuuuuck! Ladders are fucking shiiiiit!”

Sati crawls off the ladder onto the first of the platforms, writhing with spasming giggles as Hissera’s odd singing echoes around the area. It sounds like some kind of stupid, hilariously terrified yodeling. “Oh gods,” she gasps, “-this is how I die.” The elf is still snickering when her friend follows her example and crawls right over the edge, flopping down on top of her.

The mages hug each other for support, hysteria and a little idiocy bonding them together. Hissera vents a scream into Sati’s shoulder and grumbles, “There’s two more, fuck my life.” As Kelaca joins them atop the platform, the stressed woman lifts her head to look at Sati’s bright silver eyes, expression sour. _“I hate this.”_

Satina strokes Hissera’s many braids, smothering the last of her laughter to actually comfort her companion. “There there,” she coos and the dwarven warrior helps lift the larger spell-caster to her feet. “You get to beat up more demons after this.”

“Yeah, just-” Hissera pushes the shapeshifter ahead, to the second ladder, glaring at the structure as if it’s personally fucking her up the ass. “-I’m blaming Fen’Harel for putting us through this crap.”

“Well it sounds like a trickster god might find this funny,” Kelaca chirps from behind her, helping to usher the suffering dorks onward with small nudges. She watches Sati and then Hissera climb on higher, and while waiting her turn, Varric shows to be the next person after her. Snow whirls around the two dwarves, Kelaca’s sword strapped diagonally across her back like the staves her friends have, rather than placed in an impractical sheath. On the way up the mountain, she played around with quickly hooking and unhooking it- for practice, of course, not because it was kind of satisfying.

When the templar follows up the next ladder, she listens to Hissera hum again until Cassandra calls out over the storm. “The tunnel should be just ahead! The path to the temple lies just beyond it.”

The party reaches the second platform with ease, stretching off into curving planks that lets everyone catch up and group together. Waiting on the stairs to the third, and shortest ladder, Solas voices a few questions, “What manner of tunnel is this? A mine?”

“Yes, it’s one of many old mining complexes in the Frostbacks. It should not take us long to pass through,” Leliana, who’s last behind the Seeker, speaks loudly enough that those in the lead can still hear her.

Varric nearly shouts as thunder rumbles in the sky, “And your missing soldiers are in there somewhere?”

“Along with whatever has detained them,” Solas adds, rather unhelpfully. _All_ of the otherworlders expect combat going forward.

“We shall see soon enough,” finishing the conversation, Cassandra waits for the apostate to climb.

Finally finished with the shitty ladders, Hissera keeps an iron grip on her friends near the entrance to the mine. One hand fisted in Satina’s cloak, the other wrapped around Kelaca’s hood. No way in fuck is she letting either of the idiots to go in first. She does lean in and whisper something to the elf, certain that none of the crew still joining can hear her under all the roaring wind. _“Say something like a seer, sell this shit.”_

Sati glances at her with wide eyes, and thankfully doesn’t nod to make them look suspicious. When everyone gathers by the stone-carved doorway, she speaks up, “I think I’m seeing something again. I-It’s weird flashes.” Like a stroke of _Road To El Dorado_ luck, her mark flares and she shakes out her sparkling green hand with a wince. Yeah, it hasn’t stopped hurting when it does that.

“What is it?” Kelaca asks before either the scary redhead or Seeker-Paladin can open their mouths.

“Just a place,” Sati supplies, “-a huge, dark cavern with ice growing so big it looks like crystals. One pretty ray of sunlight…” She tries to remember more about the ominous mine in the game, not feeling all that confident with predicting the amount of monsters because of all the unexpected extras they’ve come across. 

Hissera shrugs and releases her hold on her friends, saying, “Not really anything useful, then?”

The shapeshifter frowns, whining back, “It’s- I dunno know, ‘Era.”

Unlatching her longsword from the clasps behind her, Kelaca grins up at the taller girls, “I like surprises. Let’s go!”

The party begins to flood inside the tunnel, immediately entering a dark chamber lined with rows of wood and stone beams. They clash with a greater shade lingering amongst a pair of wraiths, the spectral demons materializing and swaying between the columns- but still easily struck by the rogues’ arrows. Dust flies at the ‘feet’ of the wraiths, kicked up and swirling while they move, one pulling up a barrier the moment the other dies from a third shot.

As the warriors tackle the armored shade, more barriers cover them, courtesy of Solas. Kelaca sees the blue wash across her skin and her weapon blazes up with golden fire, so she hacks away with growing confidence until the demon’s remains are at her feet. 

The final wraith is taken down after Sati’s dagger shatters its defense, allowing Hissera to run in a bash it with her staff. She certainly could have killed it from afar with a spell, but she hasn’t forgotten the agony one gave her earlier today. Violence can be so therapeutic.

It takes the elf longer to dig her blade out from a wooden beam than it did the snow, and she hisses when the Anchor flares- _again._ She slumps forward against the pillar, groaning when a wave of dizziness hits her. 

“Shit,” Varric is nearest to her, retrieving some of his own bolts. “Are you alright?” He steps a little closer and sees Satina shiver before his view is abruptly blocked by the other elven mage.

Solas raises a glowing hand to the back of her head, speaking to the rest of the group, “We must hurry, before the mark consumes her.” Some kind of enchantment refreshes, or maybe stabilizes the girl, and after turning around, she shows him a weak smile.

“Thanks. That helped.”

He gives her a deferential nod, moving back to allow her strange companions to flock and fret. 

Hissera pets Sati’s hair, half-joking when she says, “If it comes down to it, I’ll carry you the final stretch.”

Kelaca snickers then, “Not like we’re carrying you through all these fights.”

“You’re really gonna taunt me when I’m holding a knife, shortstack?” Sati challenges, walking on as the group heads deeper into the mine. Past a set of stairs, they enter a spacious, half-frozen hallway and turn right, past broken crates and pots sealed shut by ice.

“Aw, you wouldn’t hurt me!” Kelaca playfully cups her own cheek with a hand, continuing, “You looooove meee.”

“Oh, do I? I can’t remember.” The dwarf’s appalled gasp makes the elf laugh, and suddenly the sound echoes enormously when their path opens up. 

Stone walls are replaced with empty space and carved banisters, granting everyone a spectacular view of the mine proper’s interior; pure blackness that appears to go on endlessly, irregularly cut rock enclosing the absurdly massive nothingness. The biggest fucking icicles Kelaca’s ever seen drip from the ceiling, where a single, obscured hole bleeds a solitary ray of light down upon cobalt-blue ice that grows off a place unseen in the darkness. She whistles out as the party keeps moving, commenting, “Guess you were on point.” The ice really does shine like crystal, and damn- how much precipitation had to be in this place for it to get like that?

“It is peculiar,” a French (but probably not _French_) accent fills in the dip in conversation, Leliana walking only a few steps behind the trio and Cassandra, who lead. “-You claimed to _see_ the scouts.”

“Did I?” Sati asks airily, knowing the answer but not looking back. She’s absolutely afraid of the Nightingale, and hopes that feigning light-headedness will get her a pass for now.  
It works, in part, because Leliana just says _‘yes, you did’_ and that’s enough to send an electric bolt through the spines of the two girls familiar with the bard’s ways. They share a wide-eyed glance, even Hissera dreading what waits for them beyond this attempt to seal the Breach. 

After turning down another few hallways, another pair of wraiths and two shades menacingly lurk atop a short staircase. Combat goes well, the element of surprise on their side; the archers take down the lesser shade with well-aimed shots, Cassandra and Kelaca meeting the greater creature on the steps to cut and bash with their weaponry. 

The (competent, not-dying) mages take on the wraiths, Hissera’s small fireballs beating at one _just_ in time to actually kill it while Solas’ staff glows a pale blue and suddenly a similar light flares up from beneath the second. The spectre is caught in a wave of ice that shoots out from the ground- a rune effect that pretty swiftly _annihilates_ it. 

Kelaca takes on a small scratch when her final blow, driving her sword up into the shade’s gut, leaves her open to a swipe she only just dodges. Her arm stings, and in the aftermath she swallows down one of the potions she took from the forward camp. The light wounds close and her fatigue lessens a bit, but the tears in her coat- like those on the back of her tunic, remain.  
_I seriously need some armor,_ she thinks, hiking up the stairs and spotting a pile of goop where a wraith once stood. _I’m too vulnerable!_

She puts her sword away before bending down and digging into the demon remains, where she finds a weird scrap of faintly green-glowing cloth. “The fuck?” Kelaca holds it up to Hissera, expecting an explanation.

“Dreamer rags,” the qunari assumes, moving on to a room where to the left is another viewpoint, and the right, another set of stairs. The exit is right there, sunlight almost blinding her even from so far off. Kelaca pockets her loot and everyone heads up the stone stairs, where they’re all greeted back outdoors by deafening wind and dead human bodies scattered around the doorway. Three corpses, three scouts they never had a chance to save. Varric sighs, sparing the deceased a regretful stare while the party slowly makes their way onward. 

“Guess we found the soldiers.”

Cassandra shakes her head, marching with some determination at the forefront of the group, “That cannot be all of them.”

“I sent eight men up this path,” Leliana confirms the thought, “-we did not see any other bodies on our way.”

“So the others could be holed up ahead?” Varric’s optimistic question makes the clueless otherworlder brighten. Kelaca, like the people actually _from Thedas,_ has no idea the scouts are still alive.

Hissera grunts, slightly annoyed to be back on uneven ground, “Sati said she saw them fighting a rift, I believe her.”

“Our priority must be the Breach.” _No one asked you, Solas._ “Unless we seal it soon, no one is safe.”

The dwarven rogue finishes that sentiment with a dry, “I’m leaving that to our elven friend here.” _Not you, Solas._

Cassandra sees the third rift at the edge of a courtyard well before they’re within a distance to combat it, calling out a warning that has everyone readying their weapons and rushing on to rescue the figures desperately fighting for their lives. The Seeker deflects a shade’s blow meant for one scout, and he yells over the din, “Lady Cassandra!” The man trembles, falling to his knees behind her and clutching his injured side.

“You’re alive!” She knocks back the demon with her shield, taking a second to look over her shoulder.

He groans in pain, nodding, “Just barely.”

The lesser shades are swiftly killed, overwhelmed by a large number of attackers, and the wraiths rip apart when Sati disrupts the rift. The spiritual blast rudely knocks her equilibrium out of whack, and she hunches over to clutch her dizzying head. Dangerous black pools randomly form around the battlefield, spitting up ethereal light and quartz projectiles, and someone moves her away from one that starts building beside her.

With only a moment to spare, she cries a warning, “There’s another wave coming!”

The webbed rift bursts out violently back into its rocky form, shooting bolts of acid-green light at the ground, where suddenly two tall, freaky creatures pop out of fucking thin air. They’re a horrible, sickly pale green and ridged all over, with lots of eyes and big mouths permanently affixed open in twisted screams. Long, spiked tails whip and curl behind them, and sharp claws rake at the dirt when they bend over and _screech_ like it’s a competition to be fucking creepy.

“Terror demons!” Hissera announces, answering the question Kelaca was too thrown-off to ask.

“Why are they getting uglier?!” The dwarf shouts, watching as one disappears- diving into the earth that glows beneath it. A scout off further in the courtyard suddenly releases a cry of distress, thrown off his feet with the missing demon crouched over him, tearing at his armor.

Arrows assail it, one flying right into its open mouth and piercing through the back of its head. It dies and glowy bits of it return to the rift when it burns to ash. The second terror demon proves to be a lot more annoying.

This kind of enemy is a lot faster and less bulky of a target, and while the mages throw attacks that definitely seem to bother it, it doesn’t hold still long enough for a rune to be placed where it stands. Hissera runs in to fight it head on, swinging her staff and cracking it into the demon’s side, nearly knocking it off balance. Before she can even grin, it screeches and the ground lights up-

Kelaca sees the dirt at her feet suddenly glow, and her whole body tenses in alarm. “Whoa- _whoa_-” In desperation, she slams her blade into the ground and a violet hue shines with the metal, _“Nope!”_  
The effect at her feet disperses, in an instant, and the still far off terror demon gets Hissera’s staff shoved into its mouth, where a ball of fire destroys it from within.

_ **Spell Purge** _

Sati closes the rift as quickly as she can, her head no longer swimming in a whirlpool. She miraculously doesn’t wobble, even standing up, but her friends come to her side and check on her wellbeing all the same. 

“Hey, this is getting easier- sort of!” Kelaca puts her sword on her back and smiles, glad to see the elf isn’t getting weaker from fighting rifts. Sure, the terror demons were new and awful, but everything else went fine!

Solas approaches, and even he agrees, though he sounds a little out of breath from the fight- _weird, why?_ “Sealed, as before. You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

Helping an exhausted scout drink down a potion, Varric calls up with a humbling reality-check, “Let’s hope it works on the big one.” 

Nearby, Leliana brings a female soldier to her feet, who sounds nothing short of tired and relieved. “Thank the Maker you arrived when you did, Lady Nightingale. I don’t think we could have held out for much longer.”

It surprises everyone (mostly the two girls familiar with this moment, but different) that the cutscene plays out as it would with Cassandra. Leliana turns her head towards the trio that earlier today awoke in chains, at her mercy. “Thank our prisoners, Lieutenant. They insisted we come this way.”

“The prisoners?” Fairly, the soldier doesn’t hide her shock, slightly bent over and holding her bleeding shoulder. Confused, she trails off, “Then you…?”

“All in a day’s work.” Hissera says, nudging Kelaca with one of her legs and ruffling the dwarf’s white curls as she puts an arm around Satina. Together they look a little more friendly and a lot less genocidal than most people would like to paint them, but still pretty strange for a group of friends.

Lieutenant Lastname releases her wounded shoulder to hit her fist over her heart, saluting them all and bowing her head, “Well, you have my sincere gratitude.” 

Another soldier jogs up to help her while Cassandra points at the trail the Breach-Squad came down, “The way into the valley behind us is clear for the moment. Go, while you still can.”

“At once,” the Lieutenant nods again and calls out for her men to head out, but spares a message for Leliana. “We haven’t been able to scout past here, good luck.”

Solas steps forward, addressing the same woman, “The path ahead appears to be clear of demons, I do not sense anything between us and the Breach.”

“Thank you, Solas,” Leliana dismisses him and joins with Cassandra, no sense in lingering around the place when the goal is practically in sight. “Our men should be close to the temple, we must meet them there.”

The Seeker quickly nods, already setting back off on the trail, “Let’s hurry, before anything changes.” The otherworlders quickly follow her lead, down a short path to a wooden balcony at the edge of a cliff. Cassandra points to a break in the fencing, calling, “Down the ladder, that’s the way to the temple.” 

Hissera openly curses, “Of fucking course.”

Smiling, Kelaca pats the taller girl’s hand, “At least we’re almost there.”

“Mhm.”

First to climb is Sati again, and she navigates her way down the rungs with ease. Hissera hesitates to go next until the elven girl has already moved to the second ladder. She groans, then finally turns and crouches to catch up. When she’s only about four steps down, the Breach expands and pain shocks through Satina- her weakened grip fails and she tips backwards. _“Ahh-!”_

There’s shouts of alarm from up high and fearing the worst, Hissera drops to the midway point, skipping the rest of the first ladder and whipping around to watch her friend plummet to the ground. Black smoke follows Sati and Hissera quickly leans over the rail, seeing a small (much smaller than it should be) lump land in a pile of snow. _The fuck?_

Peering down, she spots a tiny black nug sitting in a deep little hole, visible only from the platforms above. For a moment, everyone, including the small creature, is stunned.  
Then the nug _shifts_ back to an elf in another puff of smoke, and the bewildered look on Sati’s face is so fucking funny Hissera thinks she’s going to _die._ She laughs until tears are in her eyes, leaning on the fence and looking at her friend just sitting in the snow. A giggling Kelaca descends the first ladder, joining the qunari just as the elven dork flops onto her back and goes on to make a snow angel. 

Hissera howls, “Fuck, Sati _stop!”_ So filled with hysterical amusement, she doesn’t catch the sound of the railing creak under her weight, and shouts, “I can’t take all this shit in one day!”  
The old wood snaps beneath her, and she shrieks in fear- weightless before her stomach _drops_ and she knows she’s about to fall.

Kelaca’s fast reflexes save her; a small fist harshly yanks the larger woman back by her thick coat, pulling until Hissera is steady on her feet once more. The mage rapidly takes a few steps away from the open ledge, her chest heaving and her eyes wide. Anger burns over her terror, and she hugs her dwarven friend tightly in gratitude. “Fuck this shit! _Seriously!”_

“Are you okay?!” Sati sits up, yelling in concern.

_“No!_ Are you?!”

“I’m fucking cold!”

Kelaca chimes in, shouting back, “Then get out of the snow!” She snorts into her hand before turning around to navigate down the second ladder, hearing Sati whine and shuffle out of the snowbank that saved her from broken bones. The short dwarven girl reaches the ground in time to help brush the snow off her friend, asking more softly. “So, you doing alright?”

“Yeaahhh, I think? Still dying, that’s for sure.”

“We’ll fix that,” Kelaca promises, grabbing Sati’s glowing hand and squeezing to make the hapless elf recognize the comfort she’s offering. 

The fighters native to Thedas join the otherworlders, everyone gathering and making certain that the one bearing the rift-sealing mark isn’t horribly injured. Kelaca shoves a few of them back and nudges Hissera, the two sharing a glance. Nodding in an unspoken agreement, the mage ducks and sweeps Sati up into her arms.

“If you die,” Hissera begins as she marches off in the direction of the blasted temple, “-I will raise you from the dead, just to kill you again.” While the locals blanch and tense up, her two friends laugh in good nature.

_“I’ll hold you to it.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies if this felt like filler at all; if I included the Breach in this chapter (like in my initial outline) then BOY would it be long and I would probably cut it down because of that. Since I want to make it a big scene, stay tuned until the 18th!
> 
> [Notice] Anyway, the tags for relationships have been changed because ENIGMA decided to show me the DA2 romances and NOW PLANS HAVE CHANGED. She knows what she did.  
-Pebble


	10. The Eye of the Storm (why do I hear boss music)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Time to tackle the Breach!

Hissera carries her withering friend down along the winding, scorched trail to the temple. Peak endurance and a sense of balance at a higher level than she had _before_ keeps her legs stable on the uneven dirt path in the asscrack of two mountains. She used to have serious issues with her joints, her knees and hips aching severely _all day every day_, but she doesn’t feel any of that old give anymore. She feels _stronger_ now, and god if that doesn’t make a pleased grin pull on her face.

Conversing with the shivering twig of an elf in her arms to pass a bit of time, Hissera speaks loudly enough that she knows the rest of the party can hear, and she doesn’t really care that they do. Near-boredom lacing her tone, she purposefully jostles Satina, “C’mon Sati, talk to me about something, stay awake.” She doesn’t think that the shapeshifter is in a bad enough state to drift out of consciousness, but if they can avoid _slapping her awake at a rift_ becoming a habit, then this is for the better. Less entertaining, but better.

_“Once upon a time…”_ Sati mumbles, but her voice carries when the party dips between walls of rock and rubble that shield them from the wind. “There was a small elf, a wittle dwarf, and a beautiful qunari. They went on a very big hike, and when they got to this gathering of all sorts of people they were stared at quite a bit, and one of them got tackled by a dog. Naturally, the dog brought them to a tavern, where they bought a meal and some drinks. Maybe too many drinks.”

“No such thing ‘till you’re dead,” Hissera grunts, watching her steps as the slope suddenly curves at a steeper angle, her arms shifting the elf around to accommodate. Her shorter friends giggle, and a smirk pulls onto the mage’s lips. Snow that’s graced them unfailing since they arrived in Thedas bleeds out of their surroundings the closer they get to ground zero, until there isn’t any in sight. Soot-covered earth turns black, warbled and jutting upwards in terrible shapes as if it were melted and blown out in a magnificent blast.  
_It was_, so no one is terribly surprised.

“Not a fucking clue why,” Sati goes on after a moment, “-but they all wanted to see some fancy windows. So up they went on another hike, and fell asleep in a fancy building.” Half-dead and not from drinking too many drinks, she can hardly tell that the rest of their group is listening closely to her delirious parody of the days’ events, but Hissera and Kelaca are certainly more aware. “Weird thing is, the three of them wake up in a dungeon. That’s not very strange for drunkards to get locked up to get sober, but apparently, the sky blew up. Now how in the seven hells did that happen?” Like the rifts before that crackled and shattered, they all hear the Breach way above make similar, bone-chilling sounds- but much, _much_ louder.

Nearly tripping when everyone descends into the beginnings of a crater filled with really fucked bits of mountain, twisting in awful, deformed spikes, their dwarven companion turns her head up to look at the pair of mages. Kelaca’s soft voice pipes up, asking, “Yeah, uh, what _do_ you guys think happened?” She knows they can’t really answer her in front of the others, but from skirting around the magical blast site, she’s aching for a clue about what made it this way. 

“At a guess,” Hissera begins, climbing over a boulder in her path and balancing the bundle in her arms, “-bad magic shit.” Implying anything more than that might make them look suspicious again, so it’s all she gives Kelaca. 

Varric interrupts their circle of chatter, putting in his two cents, “Well holes in the fade don’t just _accidentally_ happen, right?”

“If enough magic is brought to bear, it _is_ possible,” Solas seems certain about the idea, sounding almost mournful when the party passes a grand wall of blasted rock, veined with glowing green lines. He hasn’t even seen the casualties of his mistake yet!  
Any moment now they’re going to come upon a veritable field of smelted corpses, frozen in poses of horrific agony and shock. It’s such a (really fucking not) pleasant thing to remember what _The Wrath of Heaven_ set as the tone for the whole story, and the knowing otherworlders try to steel themselves for it.

Quite plainly showing his discomfort with his voice, Varric shares some basic sense, “But there are easier ways to make things explode.” 

The elven apostate replies back to the rogue, conceding, “That is true.” 

Even Kelaca then starts to wonder something along Varric’s own thoughts, but more plainly; _what in the absolute fuck was someone doing with that much magic?_ Was blowing a mountain sky high _planned_, or a colossal, fucked up accident?  
Despite her curiosity only growing over time, she doesn’t say anything, just marching on and looking up at the towering waves of glassy, broken rock with her mind abuzz. 

There’s a tired groan from their elven baggage, “Honestly, what could even have that much magic?” Satina stares straight up at the Breach past Hissera’s pretty face, her vision blurry and her hand screaming with waves of pain. No snow falls anymore, and it’s terribly, blaringly unnatural. Stuck with little else but the weather to focus on, a couple of her own questions pop up and drive her nuts.  
Did Solas _stockpile_, or was somethat that high-powered a thing he was always capable of in his prime? Also, who _the fuck_ locks their focus with an _explosion?_

Close to growling from her mounting frustrations, Cassandra hurries her steps and straightens her back as she calls out, “We will consider _how_ this happened once the immediate danger is past.”

“Yes, we will not let this matter rest.” Leliana agrees with her from the back of the group and sends subtle, sharp glances at the prisoners just ahead. The pair of them make a good enough ase that everybody shuts up, either out of fear or respect.

Kelaca tries not to shiver under the weight of a stare she doesn’t see, but she freezes in place abruptly when they come around a corner and suddenly they all face a wide sea of loss. The victims of the Breach lay scattered in a spray of damaged stone bricks and fire. Some corpses were brought to their knees, others sprawled back from the shockwave long passed, a few even in _pieces_, and all of them burnt beyond recognition. She swallows down a lump in her throat, moving onward only when the bard stops behind her, a silent presence that gives her cause to look away and be brave. Pretending the nightmarish remains are merely fixtures of rock or macabre statues lessens the harrowing tragedy a bit, but it’s very possible the image of these charred bodies- _scorched, bony, eyes alight and still burning_ -will haunt them even in waking moments.

Rubble is littered and melted into place all around them, born from a building that can likely _never_ be restored; at best, this place could someday be a memorial for this seriously horrific devastation. What hardly remains standing of the place is still several yards ahead, Solas giving a name to the ruins that sit blurry in the minds of the otherworlders who stumbled, drunkenly, through its (previously existing) doors the night before.

_“The Temple of Sacred Ashes.”_

“What’s left of it,” Varric adds, his gravelly voice echoing back across the wide, chaotic wasteland around them. There’s actually no ashes; this was no volcanic eruption, and whatever the origins of the explosion, any sign of what was turned to mere dust is long gone. 

The seven of them come to an unremarkable area some way off from the ‘entrance’ to the ‘temple’, and Cassandra turns to look at the trio of prisoners, her expression unreadable. “That is where you walked out the Fade and our soldiers found you.” She breaks the silence, pointing with one her hands, her gauntlet reflecting the green light of the Breach. 

“Really?” Kelaca asks, having no memory of it, not even a blip. Sati squirms in Hissera’s arms, trying to get a look at the spot and discovering she’s just as blank. The location looks insignificant, but Hissera at least feels a fuzzy recollection of her _knees slamming into rock and gravel, the weight of a friend on her back, and ash flowing into her heaving lungs._ Shaking away the manifested sensations, she turns her focus onto the Seeker, her expression flat to give nothing away.

Cassandra nods, affirming her statement without hesitation. She stares at the grounds where men claimed they saw the air rip apart and three bruised fools come falling out of the tear, stacked on top of the qunari and clutching one another for dear life. “You were all together, and immediately fell unconscious.” Rolling her shoulders to push an invisible sensation off her back, Cassandra prepares to move on until suddenly, Leliana speaks up. 

“There is one strange thing.” The bard takes a few steps towards the haggard trio of prisoners, almost aggressive, “Those who found you said a woman was in the rift behind you. No one knows who she was, and you say you can’t remember what happened-”

Hissera grinds her teeth, _“Yeah_, and we can’t.”  
It might be foolish, but she’s pretty much willing to do anything to get Leliana off her back, even outright lie if she thinks she might get away with it. Thanks to all of her game and lore knowledge, Leliana’s thick accent and piercing eyes just sends her self-preservation instincts _skyrocketing._

“I’ve got a vague, vague memory of a glowing woman reaching for me,” the girl in Hissera’s hold chimes in, lying in the hope to defuse the tension in her friend. She remembered their time in the fade better back in the dungeons, but now it’s hard for her to recall anything significant, pain has her head so disorganized. Flippantly, as the rumbling sound of many footsteps makes her ears twitch, Satina taps Hissera on the arm, “Go ahead and put me down, ‘Era, it’s about time.”

“Alright,” the qunari lowers her tattoo’d companion to her feet as easily over a dozen scouts and five- _six_ soldiers come marching up. Hissera watches one of the hooded scouts in leather armor sprint ahead to greet the Hands of the Divine, a long dagger fixed to her hip.

“Lady Cassandra, Lady Nightingale- thank the Maker you’re here!” Up close, she appears to be an elven girl, freckled, with shiny blue eyes and peach-blonde hair and _holy shit._  
More familiar with the secondary and background characters of the game, Hissera recognizes her as Charter, fucking _Charter_ the infamous super spy?! A less impressive surprise is that the rogue is less of a ginger than she looked in _Inquisition._ She gets absolutely no time to linger on that revelation, because Leliana sends everyone into the Temple, ordering her men to take up positions around the area.

They all scatter in different directions with purpose, and the little templar watches the lead scout as she heads off. Without any clear memories or images in her mind, Kelaca is weirdly _one-hundred percent certain_ she’s seen that particular elf lady before. It’s not that strange though, since they’d seen _dozens_ of faces in the past two days. She decides the most likely case is that the woman was in the tavern yesterday, and ignores the tickling feeling at the back of her mind.

Cassandra marches off to the temple’s entryway, just a blurry-silver and plum person in Sati’s failing vision. She takes extra care not to trip over anything when everyone begins to move on, gripping her dwarven friend’s shoulder to use as a failsafe.

Following the lead of their brave Seeker, the Breach Squad walks through a doorway littered with loose stones and burning corpses, ethereal green light awaiting at the end of a short passage. The chill of the mountains seems to disappear quickly, and as they step out onto a balcony over a ruinous crater, a fetid gust of warm wind wraps around them. Seven people line up along the banister, staring out at the pebbled, scorched caldera. High, broken walls encircle a massive dip that surrounds a tower miraculously still standing, a colossal rift embedded deep in the stone. More giant spikes of rock are scattered around with glowing veins and no natural reflections in their shape, pointing inwards while the outer layers arch away- a dreadful sign of a blast so quick and violent that a vacuum formed in its center. Other strange, much smaller spikes are all over the place; bright red quartz formations in corners and climbing some of the walls, sinister against the backdrop of so much green. Great wisps of light sweep amongst the ruins, flowing into and out of the wicked spire of magic, just a taste of the magnificent, terrible calamity winding up into the sky.

“The Breach _is_ a long way up,” Varric comments, accurate but utterly understating the entirety of it; swirling like a whirlpool of acid-green clouds, small bricks and humongous chunks of the mountains spin around the echoes of lightning, caught in a spiral of wild magic. It’s broken his Top 5 of _crazy magical catastrophes_, and considering his past experience that’s really saying something.

“Anybody else hear it whispering?” Their future-herald groans, leaning over the banister and fighting an urge to hurl. Sati’s dizzy and a little freaked out, reasonably so since she’s dying faster as time goes on. The Breach is beautiful and terrifying, the sort of picture that leaves even the strongest of souls struck by the ringing bells of mortality’s cry. How weak, how small, how insignificant are they in comparison to _that._ The otherworlder may be a little dramatic about this, but fucking hell- _it’s bigger in person!_

“This is your chance to end this.” Cassandra is surely made of the best of all humanity has, because she turns, unshaken, to the elf and the party beside her. “Are you ready?”  
Kelaca’s eyes widen, and looking between her friend and the warrior, she nods to herself with a thought solely composed of respect. _Balls of fucking steel on this woman._

The one Cassandra stares at lets out a shuddering breath, Sati swinging herself around towards the Seeker (immediately regretting that motion) and tipping her head back to look up at the Breach. It’s a really fuzzy green smear on a messy grey canvas, and rubbing her eyes doesn’t fix that. “Shit, yeah. Let’s give it a shot.” She shrugs, acting nonchalant to shake off her anxiety and nausea from what thrums and spins above. 

“Uh, how is she supposed to reach the hole up there?” Kelaca asks Cassandra, rightfully confused. She cracks a joke for her friends’ benefit, kicking a small rock down into the crater, “You keeping a ladder around here?”

Hissera snorts in amusement, glad that that’s not the case, “We could throw her.”

Solas makes a face, cutting in with a small shake of his head, “No. This rift was the first, and it is the key.” He looks at the crackling crystal hodgepodge, such sureness in his voice again, and Kelaca is instantly ticked off, again. _Why do you think you know this?!_ The elvhen man turns back to the rest of the party, calm and seemingly spouting wisdom from his (bullshit) expertise, “Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.” 

_Well, which is it?_ Kelaca crosses her arms, never a fan of falsely-humble people who just ‘know things.’ First Solas said the rift _is_ the key, which is a definite statement, then said _perhaps_ sealing it would fix everything? Dude needs to get his shit together.

“Then let us find a way down,” Cassandra’s heavy tone is relieved by a small exhale, the holy-warrior comforted by their plan. Even with no certainty for success, it grants a seed of hope that may only sprout if they plant it. Her boots thud upon the stone and gravel as she begins to move off, calling a phrase of caution to the party, “And be careful.” For all they know, the ground could collapse or the Breach could expand violently at any moment, spitting out another idiot-seeking missile. 

Thedas is such a welcoming place.

They all get a good, circling panoramic view of the rift when they trail downwards and around the crater, but about halfway along the first level the spooky evil shit dials up to eleven. A great, deep voice booms and ricochets in the temple, crawling up their spines, turning milk sour, just generally awful and creepy.

_ **“Now is the hour of our victory. Bring forth the sacrifice.”** _

“Hey, what the fuck?” Kelaca points directly upwards and turns to her qunari friend for some insight, who just shrugs. Hissera knows exactly what’s going on, but technically shouldn’t. So far, working to feign ignorance is both entertaining, and annoying.

“Oh, good, it wasn’t just me this time,” Sati hums, her hand curled around the edge of Hissera’s tunic now, following like a hapless duckling. 

Leliana and Cassandra both look to the other elvhen mage for answers, the bard’s gaze even pushing Solas’ back stock-straight. “What are we hearing?” The Seeker asks, demanding an explanation.

“At a guess," _oh finally he admits to guessing,_ Kelaca snarks him in her thoughts, and he continues, “-the person who created the Breach.”  
Her brow twitches as they pass by a pair of archers taking positions along a half-covered balcony. _This underwhelming fuckhead,_ she chides, _what a cop-out._ When all of them come around a corner and approach a large burst of that glowing crimson quartz, Kelaca sees tiny arcs of electricity cling to it like a second skin. Goosebumps erupt on her arms, and she gives it a wide berth, even before Varric hisses through his teeth.

“You know this stuff is red lyrium, Seeker.”

Blandly, tense once more, Cassandra replies, “I see it, Varric.”

“But what's it _doing_ here?” 

Solas supplies a reasonable theory, “Magic could have drawn on the lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…” Gripping his staff, he forms a thin barrier of pale blue magic over the cluster of red lyrium before walking past. It may actually be doing very little, but it’s a comfort to the others nonetheless.

“It’s evil,” Varric warns, shifting his crossbow into his hands. An uncharacteristically hard expression locks on his face as he looks away from the eerily humming growths, trying his damndest to ignore it. “Whatever you do, don’t touch it.”

On the second layer of walkways, the disembodied voice of a menacing, most-certainly villainous man returns. 

_**“Keep the sacrifice still.”**_  
Those just don’t sound like the words of a hero.

Another, fearful and female voice cries out, desperate and quivering in the air- _**“Someone, help me!”**_

The pair of women at the lead halt suddenly, looking up and around for a source that’s everywhere and nowhere, and Cassandra shouts, aghast, “That is Divine Justinia’s voice!”

“Someone attacked her, clearly.” Leliana pulls her own weapon into her hands, a longbow made of something akin to ivory or birchwood, pale in colour and capped with an ashen stain near the bowstrings. She sounds venomous, dipping her head so her plum hood obscures her face in shadow, and her feet start moving on.

After descending a set of broken, glazed stairs, they hop down to the bottom of the crater. Just an eight-foot drop, Hissera still catches her close-companions one at a time while the rest of the party lands beside her. If any of them fuck up an ankle or hit the ground nose-first now of all times, she’ll really start to consider the possibility that Mythal cursed their group in addition to screwing with their habits and ideas. Kelaca was indignant to the offer at first, but gave in when vertigo took hold of her very short body. Her pride is really suffering from all these changes!

Sati’s mark flares as she wanders closer to the rift, snapping as the wisps in the air begin to coalesce, shapes almost forming as an echo of Justinia cries out again.  
_**“Someone help me!”**_  
Beneath it is another set of voices, muddled and talking over each other.  
_**“-away from her!” “What are you-” “Oh Gods!”**_

Cassandra marches up to the elf, sparing a desperate glance at the rest of the prisoners, “Those were your voices…”

The red-haired bard approaches, her bow still in hand, eyes sharp like the arrows in her quiver, “Most Holy called out to you, as if you came to her aid-”  
Everything flashes white, blinding the people gathered and spread throughout the temple, and the light around the rift reflects figures without any environment, no context to their surroundings or anyone that didn’t speak in the moment. 

First, a great, awful and warping shadow emerges, looming over an older woman in white robes. An image of the Divine, presumably, leans back suspended in the air with her wrists bound by a sinister red glow that flickers with the shapes of distorted hands. She struggles, and the shadow’s eyes of crimson flame turn to its left, where a short dwarf with curly white locks rushes into the scene.  
_“Hey ugly!”_ She cries, her hands clenched into fists, a wild look in her eyes as she glares up at the shadow, _“Get away from her!”_ Close after Kelaca, a haggard and half-asleep qunari follows, an elf cowering behind her.  
Sweeping braids back out of her dark-golden face and over her shoulder, Hissera raises a hand and gestures to something unknown, near to the Divine, _“What are you doing here?!”_  
With a gasp, Satina steps out to the side and in sight of the shadow, a shouted whisper leaving her, _“Oh Gods..!”_  
Divine Justinia wrenches her head in their direction, pleading fearfully, _“Run while you can! Warn them!”_  
_**“We have intruders.”**_ The monstrous voice that haunts the temple booms out as a black, clawed hand raises up and points at the mirage of the trio, commanding, _**“Slay them, now!”**_

As abruptly as it came, the conjured vision disperses with a violent flash that unravels the threads of light. Even the knowing otherworlders are left with questions and share a worried glance when they recover. Cassandra, made of faith and fire, just barely stops short of grabbing Satina by the shoulders, a grimace on her lips. “You _were_ there!” She cries, but takes a metaphorical step back, seeking answers rather spitting threats. “Who attacked? And the Divine, is she…?” She moves to the edge of the group, turning on her heel to face all three prisoners. Her own expression falls, suspecting the worst answer.

None of them get a chance to speak, because as is becoming routine, Leliana piles on, “Was this vision true?” Kelaca isn’t sure how she spots it, but she notices there’s one less arrow in the rogue’s quiver. _Eep!_ The dwarven girl swallows her dread, straightening her back as Leliana questions them harder, _“What_ happened?”

Pressured by the bard’s accusing tone, Kelaca takes a step forward and throws up her hands, nearly growling back, “I don’t remember! None of us do!”

“I believe they are echoes of what happened here, Nightingale,” Solas intervenes, assuming the role of a peacemaker with his calm demeanor. For once, Kelaca feels relieved to hear him speak. He nods his head upwards in direction of the Breach and gestures to the sky with his ornate staff, “The Fade bleeds into this place.”

Leliana retains her sharp edges, but her attention goes to the level-headed mage in place of the tense templar. “And it would not show things untrue?” She’s prepared to believe him, not so hardened that she won’t accept a gleam of hope and see the innocence in her prisoners.

“It is highly unlikely,” Solas admits, choosing his words carefully, “But I would wager a guess that what we witnessed was a vision of your Divine’s experience, as it did not follow these three.” He indirectly posits the idea that their ‘unknown villain’s’ menacing aura could have left a mark upon Justinia’s memory, Sati and Hissera both independently wondering if that might be why Corypheus was just a ragged shadow.

“Not that we’re not all terribly invested in this,” their dwarven rogue cuts in, Varric’s eyes trained upon the huge-ass rift they’re all standing around. “-but is _this_ the best time?”

Hissera shifts her weight to one foot, letting her weakening elven friend lean on her for support. “Obviously it’s not.” Flatly, she gives the Hands of the late Divine pointed looks, more than ready to get on with the show. Preferably _before_ the one with the Mark passes the hell out again.

Solas nods, agreeing quickly and going closer to the rift, where he turns and waves Satina closer with a graceful swish of his hand. She leaves the comfort of Hissera’s presence and walks up to the tall elven man, who makes eye contact with her when he speaks again, “This rift is closed… albeit temporarily.” _Yeah, I know._ He continues, unaware of her dreary sass, “I believe with the mark, the rift can be opened and then sealed properly and safely.”

“Yes,” she rubs at her eyes again, hoping in vain to clear them and breaking their gaze. “Definitely sounds like we’ll be ringing a bell if we do.”

The apostate transfers his staff to his other hand, nodding for the _nth_ time this day when he confirms, “Indeed, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons, stand ready!” Cassandra rallies everyone present, finally with a possible outlet for her fury and grief. She draws her sword and moves her shield into place, scouts on the ramparts, soldiers on the ground, and the rest of the squad all following suit and readying bows, swords, and spells. They spread around; archers off to one side, the mages on the other, warriors in the middle, and the six soldiers equally distributed throughout the area.  
Satina flexes out her left hand, the mark scalding hot and driving an icy pain deep into the bones of her arm. She waits for just a moment and listens, her two friends coming close and lining up beside her, providing moral support with their presence alone. The rift thums with low and unnatural tones that stick in her ears, the air crackling as energy coils and fragments along the stone that towers up into the Breach. Whispers reverberate in her head, saying nothing coherent and sounding terribly afraid, which is really lovely, of course. This experience is trippier than being on anesthesia.

Soon she checks for a nod from both Hissera and Kelaca, and then Sati takes a deep breath and raises up the Anchor, palm towards the rift. At the Seeker’s call, the elf connects to it and trembles, screaming as her skull practically _vibrates_, “There’s something big waiting!” Swiftly, she rips off the scab on the Veil, quartz growths vanishing and furling inwards in a wild burst of viridian light.

What violently breaches out of the rippling portal is the largest monster anyone present has ever seen, tall enough that the four dark horns twisting back out its head reach the same height as the open rift. It’s greyish, jagged, and spiked, with black spider-eyes reflecting the glow of magic that wrought its materialization. Another pair of horns come from massive elbows, and a permanent (rather vicious) sharp-toothed grin sits on an ugly, noseless face. The demon seems to have already seen battle in its lifetime; the hilt of a sword sticks out of its right shoulder blade and overall appearing heavily armored by sharp layers of _whatever the hell_ it’s made of. When it slams down to the ground, the humongous and angry-looking thing doesn’t move right away, briefly stunned by summoning sickness. Archers fire at Leliana’s command and the demon turns and stands in a single motion, batting a wave of arrows away like pitiful drops of rain, completely unaffected. Proof of some intelligence and strength, which is just freaking _wonderful_ for all of the squishy people in its vicinity.

“Oh, he a _big boi_,” Kelaca says, staring up at the great, freaky beast whose very roar shakes the air around it. Oddly, she isn’t terrified- her adrenaline jumps to grand heights and her fingers tingle with excitement coursing through her veins. _This is so fucking awesome._ She shows her teeth, smiling broadly when her longsword is engulfed by golden flames. 

“Pride,” Hissera corrects the dwarf, her staff in hand and eyes narrowing at the demon across the field of devastation. 

Surprise in her lilting voice, Kelaca doesn’t turn away from their definite boss fight as she asks, _“The_ Pride?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Sweet.”

That earns her a snort, and then everything goes to hell in a handbasket. Rather that face the swath of targets ahead of it, standing in a spotlight of sheer green ribbons, the Pride demon _turns around_ and unleashes another roar. It- _he?_ calls for a hoard of backup that isn’t supposed to show up until _a third of its health bar is gone-_

_“Ughhh!”_ Their qunari mage growls under her breath, more annoyance for reality’s alterations building up like embers, threatening to spark a wildfire of rage. Two shades emerge, flanking Pride, and _now_ the rude fucker postures and cackles mockingly. Hissera’s brow twitches and she’s tempted to throw her hands up in the air, because things just aren’t going like they _should be, goddammit._ Her rust-red eyes flick to her left, where she notes that Satina is still incapacitated and therefore useless and vulnerable for the moment. She steps in front of the elf clutching her head, and brings up the familiar sparkling dust of her _Shimmering Shield._ “Hey, no pressure Sati, but we can’t kill Pride unless you get your shit together.”

“Can’t you hold it back for like, three more seconds?” Sati whines, unaware of the shades that disperse, one charging towards the archers, Leliana and Varric, but quickly met by a pair of soldiers standing in their defense. Cassandra charges right ahead to the Pride demon, another three of the Seeker’s men following her stead. 

“It’s been more than three seconds!” Hissera yells, quickly tossing a bolt of fire at the second shade trying to rush the mages. A still closeby Kelaca jumps in its path, unleashing a battlecry and piercing it through the chest, wrenching it outward at an angle so it cuts the fiend in half, killing it. 

Groaning in pain, the elf nods in submissive acceptance, lifting her head and running off to stand beneath the rift, Cassandra and her soldiers keeping Pride’s attention. The fighters’ weapons ricochet off the demon’s legs, and they desperately dodge violent swipes of its massive arms- lightning with a dark blue hue trailing after dagger-like claws. Even the buffed Seeker’s attacks do nothing; her face set in stone, she shouts, _“We must strip its defenses!”_  
Crouching down, Sati raises up her left arm and hooks onto the warbling rift, tearing at the edges and weakening it until it explodes. A shockwave of magic crosses the battlefield, killing the first weakened shade and bringing the Pride demon to its knees. She drops back onto her butt, the world spinning, but an opening successfully made. 

Kelaca joins with the holy warrior, slashing at the downed monster until her sword breaks through its armored flesh. Seeing that damage can finally be done, the archers and mages double their efforts against the only remaining foe present, Solas placing a freezing mine beneath Pride’s feet that locks it into place on the ground. Unfortunately, their window closes, and Pride recovers _fast._ It breaks through the ice around its ankles, noticeably pissed off and shifting its focus to the other elf, the marked girl sitting prone under the rift. It ignores the half-dozen individuals still slashing at its lower limbs, pushing through them in a blind rage like they’re nothing more than blades of grass in its way. 

Hissera runs between the frenzied demon and her friend, a wall of flame blasting away from her body with a feral scream. Pride stops in its tracks, halting but not deterred by the fire that washes across its front. Nine symmetrically placed eyes of inky darkness connect with her burning blood-red stare, the small pause just enough for the rest of her allies to come rushing in to her aid. A horrible sizzling sound breaks the tension, a barrier flicking over her skin just as Pride lashes out with a whip of lightning. The magic rope sweeps in a broad arc, the weight knocking her back but Solas’ well-timed buff protecting her from serious injury. Less lucky, a soldier in range is felled in a single blow, his armor ripped open and blackened, blood pooling beneath his collapsed body.

Fearful and her friends vulnerable to another attack, Kelaca charges and ducks, sprinting between the giant demon’s legs and aiming her blazing sword out to catch one of Pride’s undefended ankles. From the sudden give she feels, she guesses she cuts the tendon. She barrels into the qunari mage, who ruffles her curly hair as a small show of praise for the quick move.

Sadly, their advantage is gone completely when their foe cackles, glowing violet and suddenly standing tall despite its wounded ankle.

Guard restored, Pride wastes no time and bellows in the exact manner as it did earlier, a short warning for the second wave of reinforcements that come snapping out of the fade; two wraiths this time, both instantly switching to an azure colour and reinforcing themselves with barriers. 

_“Hey, fuck you!”_ The dwarven templar cries, “Purple is _my colour_ and you’re fucking cheating!” Kelaca swears the soulless-looking colossus smirks in her direction, and that’s all the incentive she needs to rush up and fight it. She’s empowered by her determination to protect her friends, braver and stronger now than she’s ever been in her whole life. From behind Pride, Cassandra joins in the attack, knowing they cause no harm but doing her utmost to keep the demon distracted. If Satina dies, they stand no chance at all.

The scouts posted in the temple’s upper layers attack the wraiths, chipping away at the sweeping spectres’ barriers with every narrow opening they get. It’s impressive how none of them even come close to hitting any of the fighters clustered together in the crater, aiming so well in the brief windows that they do significant damage to their targets. Clearly Leliana had chosen these people for this task for a reason, because they’re nothing but helpful, and vigilant enough to dodge the glowing projectiles hurled back their way. 

Unfortunately, being a sitting duck in a rift-encounter is really shit.  
A vent of black gas and crystalline shrapnel blows out beneath the elven shapeshifter, barely rolling away in time to receive just moderate wounds. Her left leg is _fucked_, screaming with strings of agony from burns and deep cuts, and Sati keens in pain as fat tears roll down her face. _“Motherfuck-”_ She bites her lip, her hurt bringing clarity to her head, and reaches up to disrupt the rift a second time.

The wraiths’ barriers shatter and a flurry of arrows kill them swiftly, Pride’s guard breaking and brought to its knees again. Solas rushes to Satina’s side, a healing spell on his hands while the other standing mage grins with fierce satisfaction, an attack charged and ready.

“Get back!” Hissera warns everyone, unleashing a massive hail of golden fire on the one remaining demon. Her tribute to D&D’s fireball is _way better_ than Thedas’ excuse for a spark.

Pride writhes and shakes- adding insult to injury a whistle pierces the air and a bolt lodges into one of its eyes, courtesy of Varric, bless him. As the flames disperse, not planning to let the assfuck get up again, Kelaca runs up and _leaps_ onto its back. She drives her sword deep into the demon’s stony flesh, holding on by the clefts and ridges that line its massive body.  
A familiar roar leaves its chest, and with a petulant little _‘hell no’_ Sati straight up abuses the rift and destabilizes it as half-formed creatures try to materialize. Whatever they were, they die before they even get out of the fade, and Pride is rocked by the sudden wave of disruption without having recovered from the last.

Cassandra and Kelaca kill Pride together, the dwarven templar removing her blade just to stab it back in, the human Seeker thrusting her sword up through the bottom of its lowered head. When Kelaca falls through the disintegrating corpse, Cassandra jumps forward to catch her, quickly confused by the delirious laughter of the tiny little warrior. 

“Holy shit, we did it,” Kelaa whispers, their group victorious and the casualties minimal. She swears that the Seeker cracks a bit of a smile, but then the dark-haired woman looks off towards the rift, and following along, she sees why.

“Seal the rift, Sati!” Hissera shouts, holding up the withering elf, who obediently raises her marked hand and links up to it.

“You can do it!” Placed on the ground, Kelaca yells over the howling of the rift. The light is nearly blinding, and she barely realizes that the massive quartz is all gone, in its place is a hovering, pale green and glassy, diamond-shaped thing. She squints, raising a short arm to protect her eyes from the brilliant glow.

Everyone watches, desperate with hope.

Suddenly, it bursts, flying up into the sky and right through the center of the twisting, foggy light of the Breach. It connects with the swirling vortex, everything stills, then it all goes white.

When the light fades and snow falls again, some of those present weep with relief, whisper prayers, or drop to their knees. Others cheer, jumping on their feet, embracing another person close to them. Cassandra sees the elf _Satina_ collapse, limp in the arms of her qunari friend _Hissera Kata._ The dwarf _Kelaca Dovish_ joins them, already her distress ringing out amidst the din of noise. It’s abundantly clear that there are no falsities in the trio, they did everything they could- _everything and more_ to save this world. Nothing short of divine providence could have brought the three, admittedly strange, women to them in their time of need. That they survived the Breach with the answer to halt its spread of destruction is surely a _miracle._

Varric stares, speechless, as the demon-spewing tornado stops rocking with lightning, slowing its spin and almost _settling._ It’s still there, that’s for damn sure, but the world isn’t quite ending anymore. Only back in Kirkwall with his friends had he ever seen such a messy, entertaining, yet sincere group of jinxed friends. It’s a wonder that they didn’t all just give up or get killed by the raging Seeker or the terrifying Nightingale. Shit though, it’s lucky they showed up. When he sees the humorless apostate ‘Chuckles’ move in and start examining Sprout, he shoulders Bianca and crosses his fingers. Twice.

Solas felt it, he had sensed the approach of the mark his orb left upon a mortal elf, and was wildly shocked when she sealed a rift of her own volition. She and her companions are very unusual, very close, and despite some shows of foolishness all of them appear to be intelligent individuals. Their use of magic is fluent and yet juvenile, a frankly boggling combination for mages obviously self-taught at best. Then there was the company the two spellcasters kept; a _templar_, or rather, a dwarf with the baseless talents of a mage-suppressing warrior. A great deal about the three strangers makes little sense, but there is an undeniable rhythm and unity between them. They had, _successfully_, carried themselves this far and sealed the Breach, if in part. The one bearing the scar of his failure would be fortunate to survive this ordeal, though, only holding on by the grace of her will, now.

There’s an odd stirring in her heart when Leliana watches the prisoners interact, open, honest, and vulnerable in the moment as Solas, the strange apostate, tells them their elven friend will likely not awaken anytime soon. The tall qunari mage lifts the elf up, into her arms like a healer would a patient, and the bard makes note of a possible connection. Beside the mage, the dwarf Leliana was shocked to discover had the abilities of a _templar_ shuffles on her feet, nervous and chattering about all their cuts, scrapes, and how _pale_ their elven companion is. When the qunari, clearly the leader of their trio, nods her head (long, tiny braids shifting, revealing pointed ears absent of piercings) towards the pile of ashes that was one a great Pride demon, the dwarf gasps. Rushing off, white curls bouncing on her head and strangely-purple eyes alight with excitement, she picks up the sword that had been stuck in the demon, admiring it as the qunari woman snorts in dry amusement. Leliana can’t stop herself from analyzing their every move, every gesture, every emotion. Their innocence appears to be proven, but nothing is set in stone while the Breach still lingers in the sky.

“Any good?” Hissera asks the shortstack, plenty aware of the dozen or so sets of eyes upon them. She tries not to show her irritation for it, keeping her red gaze steady on Kelaca.

“Uh, maybe?” On her way to rejoin her friends, Kelaca snaps the blade onto her back and starts to worry about what’s to come. Sati looks like shit, they’re probably still considered guilty, and she’s got no fucking clue about where the game- uh, where _things_ will go from here. 

Luckily, Cassandra at least gives her that much, calling out to the survivors, “We will head back to Haven, the sun is near to set soon.” With their orders, the scouts all get up and start filing back around to the front of the temple. The soldiers on the ground find a path back up, previously blocked by rubble and now clear from the shockwave just unleashed by the Breach. The two conscious otherworlders walk in Cassandra’s footsteps, marching up the stacked bricks and out of the ruins, back into the freezing mountains of the Frostbacks. Some people lean on each other, a couple completely silent, finally with a moment to grieve or process the nightmare that began earlier this day. It was a calamity unlike anything before in Thedas, except perhaps what happened to the ancient elves and all that… 

Hissera rolls her stiff neck, balancing her unconscious friend and pushing out her thoughts. It won’t do her any good to get stressed or think too hard now, on a long trek down and around the hills still possibly littered with demons and crap. To soothe the feverish, half-dead Satina and the very stressed, clueless Kelaca, not to mention her own anxious soul, the mage soon opens her mouth, letting a lullaby flow off her tongue to echo out into the mountains.

_“Hush-a-bye bye, don't you cry…”  
“And go to sleep my little baby.”_

She begins slowly, the melody low and hauntingly pretty.

_“When you wake…”  
“You’ll have sweet cakes, and all the pretty little horses…”_

Her eyes close for just a moment, recalling the tune she learned in her childhood.

_“Oh, black and bays, dapples and greys-”  
“And, all the pretty little horses…”_

When her voice fades out, a prideful part of her purrs when Varric compliments her, walking back behind her, beside Solas.

“Nice set of lungs you’ve got there, cute song too.”

Hissera decides to humor the storyteller, admittedly also entertaining the fangirl beneath her badass exterior, “Good enough for an autograph, Tethras?” 

He laughs then, genuine and a little surprised by it, saying wryly, “No promises, not without an encore in the tavern.” Screw the tragedy-bullshit he’s seen in his lifetime, there’s just something about these three that gives him some damn hope.

When they finally trudge through the passes and reach Haven, the sun is just beginning to disappear. They enter from a side path off of a bridge and down a short hill, taking them past where all the trebuchets will eventually be. Probably. The pair of otherworlders don’t see anything of significance, but people give them and their party a wide berth, whispering and staring, a mixture of fear, awe, and lingering anger upon their faces. News hasn’t exactly been spread yet that they helped, _willingly_ at that, so it’s no surprise to anyone that the masses are still ready to mob. Leliana scouts and Cassandra’s soldiers disperse, dismissed and heading out in various directions, several stopped by small crowds of citizens or fellow soldiers that interrogate them about _what happened up there._

Witness accounts are always wonderfully accurate and never exaggerated, so Hissera is sure they’ll be painting her and her friends fairly-  
On a snowy day in hell. 

Which might actually be the day they’ve had.

-  
\--  
\---

_Miles down in the Frostbacks, upon the frozen lake outside an old settlement surrounded by tents and travelers, a dark, hissing and crackling portal appears- reflecting viridescence across the ice and silhouetting a tall, slender figure that steps out from a shuddering rift. Their arrival goes unseen by anyone, as up from the mountains, in the distance, a ball of pale green light rockets high into the sky. A mesmerizing sight, appearing in slow motion yet so incredibly fast, and a glaring bright white glow flashes when it hits the eye of a magnificent, unnatural storm._

“Interesting…” A lovely, rich Ferelden accent murmurs, feminine and slipping out from plump lips. The rift closes behind her, and she tugs long scarlet hair back behind her head, fastening it into a manageable tail with a tie removed from her wrist. Taking a slow look at her surroundings, she walks confidently across the solid lake, towards a settlement that she’s certain she knows- and has _been to_ before.

_**Haven**_  
The word rings in her mind, and her sharp brows lift, surprise written on her face for a moment. Then, her lips curl in satisfaction, already seeing incredible use from such a mysterious boon. 

She reaches the edge of the lake and hikes up a short incline, her thick leather boots keeping her feet insulated from the freezing snow, but only a short-sleeve green tunic and a black vest protect her torso. She shivers, flexing her hands carefully to maintain some measure of blood-flow, grateful that at least her breeches are well stitched, if covered in a bit of soot and ash. Her approach isn’t heralded by anyone until she’s already strolled right into the droves of people spread out around Haven, and quickly she notices that her worn attire isn’t out of place at all. She recognizes the armor of templars, the robes of the Chantry, and the deeper she weaves into the crowds, the more things change. A few areas are little groups, almost factions; templars here, pilgrims there, a couple hundred refugees (the crying, lack of belongings, and wounds give them away) that way, and the direction she heads has an increasing number of people that she’s certain are mages like her.

Everything is so convenient, she questions how anyone could complain about blending in. Perhaps being human makes it easy for her, but really, there _are ways_ to go unnoticed.  
She keeps her face neutral, going over an old rule of thumb in her head while she fixes the pair of glasses on her nose, pushing them up into their proper place. _Look and act as if you belong, and no one will look twice._ It works flawlessly for her, and if she weren’t starting to go numb from the icy fucking air, she’d feel smug about it.

All anyone is talking about is the gargantuan hole in the sky, a tear in the Veil that keeps _the fade_, which she remembers well from a Harrowing and a few other incidents, and _this plane_ separate. They’ve named it _The Breach_, because people always name and number things so they’re easier to keep track of in conversation. Apparently, the Breach was spitting out fiery meteors, terrible demons, and ‘Maker knows what’ for the majority of the day, and only now does it seem to be calming- yet pointedly not dispersing. She logs what she catches, making sure not to linger near to, or look at anyone she listens to. 

One she’s burrowed herself amongst throngs of trembling mages that reek of fear, anger, and woe, she slows her stride until she’s wandering a bit more casually. Several candidates appear in her line of sight, but there’s nothing _good enough_ until she spies another young woman, blonde and locked in a stunned silence. Thankfully, she’s always been the patient sort of schemer.

“Excuse me,” the red-haired woman addresses her in a friendly, careful tone. The other lady still startles, and so she apologizes, “I’m sorry, I just…” She intentionally trails off, averting hunter-green eyes and wrapping her arms around her middle, immediately drawing attention to her absence of any coat.

“No no!” The honey-blonde mage sits up straight from her position on a shoddy bench that must have been brought many miles or built on the very spot. “I was lost in my thoughts. How can I help you?” Softer, but not naive blue eyes look over the taller lady, concern quickly knitting her brow. “Where on earth are any of your things?”

In a quieter voice, not a whisper but gentler so she doesn’t attract added attention, the clever woman spills a story without even blinking, “I was accosted by a templar earlier, I ducked away when he grabbed my cloak, you see…” She knows she cannot appear totally helpless in front of this other mage, choosing wisely not to underestimate anyone in Thedas. “Everything is already so tense, I don’t want to cause a scene.”

The lady still seated hooks upon the lie and accepts it, her knuckles turning white upon her lap, and she mutters, bitterly, “The Circles are long gone, yet they still continue to harass us all…!” With a heavy, sharp sigh, the fair-haired woman turns her blue eyes back up, trust now in her gaze. “I have a spare coat, it’s yours, Miss.”

With a genuinely grateful smile, the first woman responds smoothly, “Julia Galus, and _thank you_, truly.” In moments, Julia is given an article reminiscent of a trenchcoat, but only reaching to her knees and a foggy, worn sort of black that’s been bleached by the sun or lost its saturation in a wash too many. 

“It’s what any of us would do,” the blonde lady chuffs then, “-not really, but I’m not a shit. My name is Marie Rellowe, and don’t hesitate to find me again if you need to.”

Nodding as she tugs the coat onto her frame, her eyes briefly widen when more warmth than she expected sinks into her. As she looks close at the fabric, inspecting it, Julia asks, “Marie, do you know where I should get new supplies? I can’t stand the idea of relying on my campmates.” She finds odd stitches, black threads shaped in magic runes she discovers quite quickly that she _recognizes_ to be heating enchantments. Useful indeed.

Julia correctly assumed that Marie approves of personal independence, because the mage stands up, brushing off the skirt of her grey-blue robes and pointing towards the village (because it is large enough to be called that now, rather than a crude settlement). When the taller woman looks back to her, she says, “Off in there, is a man called _Seggrit._ Abrasive, maybe a bit greedy, but he’ll sell to anyone.” Marie turns back to Julia, quickly asking, “Have you got any coin, then?”

“Oh yes,” Julia smirks then, patting the modest swell of her chest. “Safest place I could think to hide my purse.”

Marie nods, understanding, and ushers the redhead away with a wave of her hand, “Off you go then, dinner will be starting any time now. Hurry, or you’ll miss it.”

“Yes ma’am,” Julia replies, going off to the steps up to Haven, taking no detours and leaving the other mage far behind her. When she nears the gates, only one guard stands, and he lets her inside with hardly a second glance.

_“No magic,”_ the man warns before looking up at the sky, whispering something under his breath.

Not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, she doesn’t press the guard for anything, instead catching a passerby with a gentle touch on the upper arm. “Pardon, is this the way to Seggrit’s shop?” She points in a random direction, and the stranger, an elven girl, shakes her head.

“Nae,” she gestures to the right of the entrance, to a long dirt pathway where people bustle about. “That way, so is the inn, Miss.”

“Thank you, dear,” Julia soothes the overly toneless girl, patting her arm before taking leave on towards the new destination. A handful of minutes pass until she reaches a swath of tables with a variety of goods; swords, arrows, coats, satchels, bundles of rations, even a few helmets. Apparently the blonde, rugged man standing enclosed by all the tables is unafraid of thieves, because he lacks any obvious guards… or rather…  
Her eyes flick over his person, and she sees the hilts of daggers on his hips, but they’re stuck in place by tiny latches, an inconvenience for a true rogue. Smiling to herself over her revelation, she approaches the Merchant and his stall, hands clasped behind her back.

He notices her quickly, a good eye for business. “Looking for anything in particular?” No ‘Miss’ from this man, she understands what Marie meant about him now.

“Well I’m looking for Seggrit, I hear he sells supplies.”

“You’re in the right place. Name what you need, and I’ll name my price.” The man nods, his own arms crossed over his chest, sporting a green scarf and halfway-decent clothes, if not very nice aesthetically. Then again, Julia isn’t certain it really _is_ green, she’s had red-green colour confusion her whole life before she woke in the snow, she can’t tell if it’s changed like… everything else has.

“Rations, a waterskin, a pack, and a bedroll if you have it. I’m not wasting any coin trying to buy out a spot at the inn.” She steps right up to one of his tables, and business begins.

“How many days of rations?”

“Oh, a week to be safe. It’ll save me a few trips.”

“How large a pack?”

“Broad enough for books, not so old the strap might break.”

“Things for hygiene?” Seggrit surprises her, just for a moment.

“I’m not so savage I’m lacking everything,” she says, already carrying a few vials of tonics in her purse, “I just had a few things stolen during the chaos today.”

He accepts her well-informed lie, admitting without a trace of embarrassment, “I’d send you to an alchemist for that anyway.”

Smiling enigmatically, Julia concludes, “I’ll wait while you check your stock, then.”

Minutes fly by as the merchant gathers what she requested, occasionally checking in to see if an item measured up to her standards, and she carefully balanced his patience with her needs, knowing full well not to accept his asking price for everything- at least not without showing her understanding of trade, first.

“Two sovereigns, six silvers.”

Knowledge of the coin of Thedas slips into her mind like it was always there, and she shakes her head demurely, “Oh I think just two soveriegns would be a fairer price.”

“Either with the six silvers,” he says harshly, “-or take away half the rations.”

Clicking her tongue in disappointment, she sighs and with a smooth motion, she produces her coin purse from her shirt, “Very well.” Julia collects the necessary coins, pretending to take a bit longer than needed to find the right ones, specifically a second sovereign. Her purse is filled with at least two dozen, but making it seem as though they’re bits that she holds dear in their scarcity might just save her the hassle of paying more than she needs to. Six silvers and two large, gold sovereigns are put on the table, and she takes her goods with a polite, _“Pleasure doing business.”_

Julia packs her rations into her pack and after attaching the bedroll to the fastenings on top, she slips her arms through the straps, satisfied that it fits well. The waterskin is tied to a loop on her belt, easy to access and logically, empty upon transaction. A solution comes to her mind and she traces her steps back out of the gates of Haven, running her fingers beneath the lapels of her coat and deciding she likes it more and more by the minute. She finds Marie again, seated but not alone on her bench, digging into a bowl of plain broth, bread slices on her lap.

“Ah, I see you’ve got supplies now.” The mage comments, approval in her voice. “Hope you didn’t go flat broke, Seggrit’s been a bit hard on his prices as of late.”

“No, not this time, albeit if only just,” Julia answers her, taking a seat when the blonde woman shifts over to make room. There was never a risk of losing all her coin, but displaying too much confidence will get her into trouble.

“You’re just in time for dinner, too. I’d say you’re lucky but-” Marie stops herself, clearly having been about to comment on the harassment Julia fabricated for sympathy. “You wouldn’t be a mage if you were lucky,” she says instead, taking a sip of her soup.

Nodding then, Julia agrees, though she doesn’t really feel that way since she chose to have magic, “I make use of it.”

Marie hums thoughtfully to that, and after swallowing, she speaks to the mage on her other side, “Will you get her a bowl?” The mage nods, just a young boy, twelve at most, and happy to do as he’s told it seems. 

Holding up her waterskin, Julia smiles, imploring the boy, “Could you fill this for me, please?” He agrees with Marie’s gentle urging, taking her waterskin and scampering off.

Turning back to Julia then, Marie offers a piece of bread, and the redhead recoils. Snorting, the woman in robes asks, “What, are you afraid of food? I haven’t bitten it yet.”

Julia shakes her head, “No, I just get incredibly sick when I eat bread and some other things.” Gluten, specifically, it was a nightmare of gastrointestinal issues and pain. She’d really rather fucking not deal with that now.

That sentiment starts to change when Marie raises a brow, not believing her, “Sick from _bread?_ You’re joking.”

“I’m really not.”

“Seriously? If you just don’t like it that’s _fine_-”

“Oh I like it, it doesn’t like me.”

“You’re ridiculous, Julia.”

“Ridiculous?” She ehoes, narrowing her eyes, actually pretty annoyed. “Alright,” she takes the offered food, “-_you_ are going to take care of me when I start puking and cramping up, deal?”

“Right, deal.” Marie watches, and Julia starts to eat.

She immediately begins to feel like a bit of an idiot, because even though she went from having the body a blonde young man to a red-haired woman (which Zander would admit that he’s still not very comfortable with, some dysmorphia getting him- _her?_ there), it never occurred to him until now that his lifelong sickness may be gone. Time passes, he downs his soup, and it never happens. He doesn’t get sick. 

Julia turns to Marie, asking with enormous sincerity, _“Is there more bread?”_

Thankfully, there was, and he stuffs himself on that, slipping some silver to the kid that keeps running back and forth so he can eat more. “Give half that to whoever baked or brought this, please,” he instructs, and the apprentice nods, eyes shiny and pocketing the coins.

“Alright, I’ll believe that it’s made you sick _before_,” Marie begins, having watched him gorge himself like someone who hadn’t had bread in _years._ “But so much for that now, yes?”

“Yessss,” he replies, his hiss sounding distinctly like a moan of pleasure. 

“Good for you, then.”

After reattaching his waterskin to his belt, Julia begins to stand, adjusting his pack and sharing a word of truth with the blonde mage, “I’ll be leaving the Frostbacks soon. Your help was invaluable, Marie, thank you.”

Not terribly shocked, Marie tilts her head to one side, mostly curiosity in her voice, “Can’t say I blame you, after the Conclave went up this morning, it’s likely us mages will take the fall.”

“Actually, I just have some people I need to meet up with,” Julia admits, brushing back his ponytail and smiling wryly. “We were separated in the aftermath of the Conclave, but I have a feeling that everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. It just might take some time.”

“You could be right,” conceding a bit, Marie moves to her feet to give the redhead a proper goodbye. “In any case, be safe. Night is falling, and there may still be a few rogue demons running about in the mountains.”

Failing to hold back a slight smirk, Julia raises one of his hands and materializes a small rock in a spark of green, just above his open palm. Magic capable of utilizing the fade itself, rather than elements or concepts born of the material plane- the specialization was irresistible because of its potential. 

_“I believe I’m quite capable of handling anything that steps in my path.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! A wild Zander-Julia appears! Sorry if the pronoun switching was strange, but not all the otherworlders can readjust so easily.  
From now, we'll be seeing semi-regular snippets of Jules' solo adventures!
> 
> What did you all think of the boss fight? It was really fun to plan out :D


	11. Dawn of a new Day (what a time to be alive)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pebble] 40 pages  
It's forty pages  
F O R T Y P A G E S  
_it's forty pages_
> 
> [Enigma] Why am I not shocked
> 
> [Pebble] I gotta format it now rip

A minstrel plays something low and forlorn in the din of a big, creaky tavern that was considerably more lively four days ago. It was bright and bursting with chatter the day before the sky ripped itself a new one and Loki’s flaming green asshole started shitting demons and burning rocks across this lonely border settlement in the Frostbacks. With the awkward mood of post-Breach crap hanging in the air, Hissera and Kelaca consider drinking themselves to stupidity again, but without their third companion that idea quickly curdles like sour milk- _they can’t celebrate without Satina._ Neither of them actually felt much better when they tried treating their discomfort with alcohol in the past, anyway. 

“At least no one is throwing rocks,” Kelaca hums, a joyless smile quirking on her lips after Flissa leaves with their meal requests. The rest of _The Singing Maiden’s_ patrons are staring mournfully into their fifth mugs of ale, glaring daggers at the pair of otherworlders, or quietly speaking to one another in the corners of the dimly lit room. A fire still roars, but even that once charming and warming feature now just seems to reflect the dreary atmosphere of Haven itself, the embers burning low amongst the smoldering coals, sparks crackling like the sky after the Conclave went up like the Hindenburg.

Hissera, always cheerful and _never_ bitter, replies, “Yeah, but I wouldn’t put it past anyone to toss their empty flagons at us.” Her eyes rake across the boards of the vaulted ceiling, tracing the support beams of oak or some fucking kind of wood, trying to take this moment of peace for what it is. 

“Guess you’re right,” unhappily, Kelaca taps her fingers atop the surface of their lone table, space naturally given to the two of them ever since they were walked out of Haven in chains and right back in covered in ash and snow. Their clothes had been ruined by acid, fire, lightning, and sharp demon claws, but thankfully some replacements had been rounded up or donated anonymously, so they weren’t dressed in scraps. Now the dwarf wears pants that she assumes previously belonged to a human child; they’re right width for her hips and legs, but so long she’s had to roll them up and even still, the beige fabric reaches her ankles and covers most of her boots. She’s donning a new (not _new_) honey-brown tunic, short-sleeved and embroidered on the hems with a simple design in lighter threads. Her gifted coat is still in good condition, and she keeps it wrapped around her waist by the sleeves when she’s indoors. Kelaca mourns that nice lilac tunic she started with, but she’s since resolved herself to the idea that she’ll be ruining a lot of clothes until she gets a proper set of armor.

In the meanwhile, her taller qunari friend has been forced to make do with a baggy pair of men’s pants, a much darker brown and made of some kind of animal skin. Not exactly soft material, but sturdy enough to keep out the chill and it must be at least partially water-resistant, because the local snowfall has yet to ruin it. Hissera’s boots turned out fine after their enormous and shitty hike, but just as Kelaca’s first tunic was left in tatters, hers was ruined beyond convenient repair. Annoyingly, but not surprisingly, her replacement is tight as hell around her bust, but otherwise fits her alright on the arms. The sleeves go past her elbows and slip right under her bracers seamlessly, a faded shade of coal-black and probably some kind of old linen. She’s making it work.

While they may only be partially satisfied by their accommodations, Hissera is pretty damn sure that they’d have been left to fend for themselves if they hadn’t done everything they could to get on Cassandra’s good side during _The Wrath of Heaven._ She would say that first quest went well for them, when considering their current semi-state of freedom. Sure, she and Kels have both ‘visited’ the dungeons with Leliana since Sati stabilized the Breach, but they haven’t been put back in chains. 

So day by day, they’re tallying _every_ little victory they can in the aftermath of their first drunken escapade.

A few beats pass in silence as the music stops, but it soon picks back up with a different tune and all is well again. Not much later the front door opens, groaning and letting a cool breeze inside as Varric walks through with his shawl littered in snowflakes and shadows over his eyes. Last the girls saw him, he’d walked into the Chantry just as they left for their regular check-in (_read;_ interrogation) this morning, and neither of them expect he went in there to pray. 

Their fellow jailbird looks up after scraping mud and slush off the heels of his boots, and he gives both the girls a considerate nod. They return the gesture and Hissera points her thumb to the vacant spots at their square table, one fitted with chairs, unlike the longer tables with benches. Wordlessly, Varric accepts the invitation and pulls himself up into a seat across from the qunari and around the corner from the other dwarf. 

“So you two look about as happy as a chicken on a chopping block,” he says, waving to Flissa with a few hand signs that signify his usual order, “-which is just a bit better than most folk here. What’s your secret?” Just a table between them all, the two otherworlders see half a bruise peeking out from his high-collared shirt, the red velvet fabric only disguising the mark at a distance. They’d be worried, but as he didn’t limp over, nor does he look more haunted than anyone else around Haven, both girls fair the guess that Cassandra actually went easy on him today.

“Haven’t you heard?” Hissera’s lips quirk up in genuine amusement from his wry question. His casual, subtle interrogation is something she can take a lot better than Leliana’s cutting words. “Sati’s ‘chosen by the Maker,’ so we’re blessed by default.” She raises her fingers up to show her sarcastic quotes, leaning back in her chair so it rests only on the rear legs and her ankles lock into the beams beneath the table. 

“I thought it was someone else?” Kelaca chirps, leaning over her folded hands, forearms flat on the tabletop. “Entrust-ay?”

_“Andraste_, Magpie.” Varric’s shoulders quake when he chuckles, quickly resting his chin in the palm of one of his gloved hands, an elbow propping him up. 

His fellow dwarf turns red in the face and she childishly sticks out her tongue, “Close enough.”

After a quick, well-meaning shake of his head, Varric’s dark brows crease and unwittingly, his tone shifts to something more concerned, “Seriously though, how are you two taking that whole thing? You’re going from prime suspects to the ‘Maidens of Andraste’ in just a few days.” He tries to make light of it, his free hand making a vague gesture, “It’s pretty odd at the least; the Chantry wouldn’t normally accept anyone that isn’t human.”

_“Racist shits,”_ Kelaca quickly says under her breath, and at the rogue’s glance, she fakes a cough and smiles. “Oh, just a tickle in my throat.”  
Varric lets out an amused breath through his nose, recalling her fury with Chancellor Roderick at the forward camp, and again the first day back in Haven, where she tried to kick him in the shin for sneering down at her. He doesn’t see any reason to call her out on her anger, not when it’s all justified.

After thinking about their new, _definitely-not-a-thing-from-the-game_ titles, Hissera decides to give the dwarven man a somewhat serious answer. She draws his attention back into the moment when she clicks her tongue and speaks up, “Honestly? It’s both funny as hell and completely horrifying. Sati will piss herself when she wakes up and people call her a ‘Herald’ or a ‘Maiden.’” Out of the three of them though, Sati’s the only one at all _maidenly_\- and she’s a living example of _Murphy’s Law_.

Varric nods, offering his thoughts on the matter, “A fair reaction, I wouldn’t blame anybody for turning tail out of the Frostbacks with all the shit that’s happened so far.” He stops when Flissa places a drink in front of him and refreshes the water in the otherworlders’ mugs with a copper pitcher, and sure that water tastes like bits, but manners are fucking manners. Haven’s only barkeep receives polite acknowledgement or friendly smiles from the trio of customers, and she visibly relaxes with that.  
Once her small task is complete, the gentle, slightly nervous lady promises their meals will be over soon, and that earns her looks even brighter than before. No one was worried about payment and Flissa doesn’t inquire, all of them have been good for it so far. Varric already keeps plenty of money for necessary expenses, and the other day Kelaca sold her rather useless but jeweled sword for enough coin to pay for hers and Hissera’s food and drink for a couple days, but no more. 

Soon, after taking a gulp of Ferelden ale, the red-haired rogue speaks again, “How’s Sprout holding up by the way? Still out, isn’t she?”

_Hours after they all staggered into an empty cabin, they all stood around a single cot where a tattoo’d elf shifted fitfully, her breathing labored and her skin coated with sweat and ashes. Just above her head, Solas’ hands glowed as they ghosted over her face and along her left shoulder, until he stopped at the Mark. The luminescent scar on her palm no longer sparked or crackled, almost as if it were calmed once the sky ceased its thrashing. _

_The elvhen apostate sighed in relief when Sati finally settled a bit, though only once his examination was nearly done. “She is stable,” he explained, “-but stopping the Breach’s spread has strained her considerably, I can only feel a trace of mana within her.”_

_“That’s bad, isn’t it?” Kelaca asked the resident ‘magical expert,’ finally capable of displaying some respect for him. Her dear friend was wrecked by something she had close to _zero_ understanding of, and she’d take answers from anyone._

_“Yes, I won’t deceive you with vague words of comfort,” he said, regretful eyes locked upon the young, ill-fated elf his old magic plagued. “Your charge is clinging by a thread, with only the strength of her will.”_

_From across the room, Hissera cut in dryly, “Yeah she’s a stubborn little shit.” She didn’t appear at all worried, leaned back against the wall with her arms crossed beneath her bust. She knew it would take days for her friend to wake up, and exercised her patience, perhaps a bit too easily. The dwarven otherworlder was restless, though._

_“Can’t you use magic to help her recover? Maybe there’s a way to replenish mana quickly!” Kelaca suggested, already confused by the older (she assumed, since he acted wise and shit) spellcaster’s innaction. Sati didn’t look terribly injured, just… really, really sick. Was it all internal?_

_Solas shook his head and took a step away from the shapeshifter’s bedside, “No, mana must be restored naturally by the body. A lyrium potion might very well kill her in this state.”_

_“And healing magic won’t make a difference?” Kelaca could already anticipate his reply, but she had to ask. Her teeth dug deep into her cheek, a victim of her distress._

_He gave the short templar a considerate look and confessed that there was nothing he could do to help Satina. Once he pulled his cloak back onto his shoulders, prepared to depart, he spared one more glance at the sleeping elf. “It would only risk overwhelming her tenuous condition.”_

_It would be a waiting game for them all, then._

“Yup,” Kelaca answers Varric flatly, slumping down so her mouth is squished against her hands, and she feels unfamiliar spidery-scars against her lips. She looks like a kicked puppy, or maybe just one that’s sad and waiting for their elven friend to come home and play. Solas had lessened her fears somewhat, promising that the freaky magic mark wasn’t killing Sati anymore, but he also added some new ones- like how a mage can totally overexert themselves and die from using too much mana too quickly.

“Adan thinks she’ll wake up tomorrow, her fever is finally breaking,” Hissera explains, thinking of the intelligent but extremely grumpy man Cassandra and Leliana are forcing to work outside his field of expertise. “The man’s just an alchemist, but he’s kept her alive with his potions better than a healer could with prayer and fluids.”

Varric nods, straightening a little in his seat, “I think I met him. Scowling, big beard, long mustache-”

“-buzzed head, weird robes?” Kelaca finishes, and they confirm it together. 

Hissera drinks down her water, waving one of her hands, “Yeah, he’s fair to be upset, he got strong-armed into playing Healer.” 

The adorable templar jumps up, her odd, purple eyes bright, “Meera too!”

Before Varric can ask, Hissera leans in and taps the table with her knuckles for his attention, elaborating for her smaller friend, “She’s a girl they picked to be Sati’s caretaker, but she clearly didn’t want the job, so instead she’s ferrying supplies to us for Adan and changes out all our stuff.” Her lips curl up mischievously against her tankard, “She’s quicker than a fucking sparrow and just as flighty, and it’s hard not to take it personally.” 

Since it wasn’t that long ago, Hissera remembers the evening they returned to Haven pretty well. She was surprised to have Cassandra nearly beat their door down, Adan and another familiar NPC- er, _person_ right behind her.  
It was the nameless girl the protagonist wakes up to in the game; an elf with olive skin, chestnut hair slicked back out of a face bare of vallaslin, and with surprisingly steady hands even though the rest of her slight frame often shook like a leaf. As soon as Cassandra declared Meera’s identity and role, the leading otherworlder stepped in.

_“I’ll handle it,” Hissera swore, fully aware that Sati would freak the hell out if she learned a stranger took care of her while she was out cold. She’d do her friend that kindness if she could, if just to see the idiot be cheerful when she finally woke up. “I just need supplies.”_

_Stern yet considerate, Cassandra nodded assent to the mage’s offer, “Very well. The necessities will be provided for you.” She lowered her voice and looked Hissera in the eyes, “While I am not yet entirely certain of your innocence in this matter, each of you did all that you could on the mountain. I could not in good conscience deny you this.”_

_Well, that was a little fucking heavy, but good on the Seeker for the honesty and consideration._

Since that evening, Hissera has done the most work to bathe, feed, and dress the comatose otherworlder, clinical and honestly fairly bored with handling the simple chore. Sati’s light and small, and after getting all that ash and sweat off her the first night, it was pretty easy to keep her clean and medicated. During most of the day, she and Kelaca even leave their elven friend alone and unattended, expecting that Leliana has people watching their cabin ‘round the clock for any threats or suspicious activity- whether on their part or someone else’s, of course. 

Conveniently for Hissera though, each occasion that servant girl drops off daily crates of medicine and rags, she helps Adan make observations. Meera’s handwriting is juvenile but the contents are important and useful enough, and it wasn’t even required of her. The qunari woman figures it’s out of guilt for shirking off the role in the first place.  
Every few hours she and Kelaca find that those two reluctant healers have left whole papers of notes on almost every surface of their single-room hut, each one mentioning Sati’s condition or frequently changing instructions for potion dosages. Hissera contributes a bit too, but mostly she only reads them just to make sure she doesn’t poison her friend on accident. 

While it was assumed to be only out of care for Sati, the mage is putting in all this effort and work with a secret, selfish intention, and she’s certainly patient enough to wait for the pay-off tomorrow.

Varric draws Hissera back into the moment, inquiring about her earlier comment, “Is that so?”

“Meera is nice, she stays to talk sometimes, but she is pretty skittish,” Kelaca agrees, perking up when Flissa returns with two plates and one bowl well-balanced in her slender arms. _Dinner!_

“Take care, don’t be shy if you need anything else,” she says with her airy voice, putting each dish before the right person with practiced ease. After the pair of girls and the dwarven author thank her, Flissa gives a bashful nod and hurries back to her post at the bar. 

There’s meat and potato stew for Kelaca, who happily takes half of her friend’s bread loaf, Hissera having chosen roasted and spiced vegetables and some baked chicken instead. Varric has a plate full of simpler foods, buttered corn, mashed potatoes doused in a dark gravy, and a small dinner roll.  
Thedosian food has proved to be pretty standard, but also pretty good considering a fantasy realm’s potential for weird ass dishes, and luckily none of the otherworlders are terribly picky. Ferelden cuisine isn’t even that different from American-European, which is pretty unsurprising since the wet, coastal kingdom is _totally-not-England_, just like the empire of Orlais _totally isn’t France._

Eating gives them time to reflect though, because it’s difficult to talk with a full mouth and they all have basic fucking manners.  
On their first day, between bouts of being harassed, detained, and interrogated by the Hands of the Divine, Hissera took every moment, every _hour_ alone with Kelaca to tell her what she needed to know about Thedas. What things she couldn’t reasonably cover or explain without having to go on a tirade of stories for days, she promised that ‘Kelaca’ wouldn’t reasonably know anyway.

_“You’re casteless, born underground in Orzammar. It’s perfectly acceptable and actually expected that you don’t really understand or know a lot about what goes on on the surface.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Really.”_

She still told Kelaca about darkspawn and the Blight as well as wardens, the current situation with templars and mages, the conflict in Orlais, that Kirkwall (_“That place we’re saying we came here from,” she reminded the shorter girl._) is a coastal city that’s had a whole country’s share of crazy disasters, and that Haven is in a mountain range in Ferelden. Then she dipped into dwarven things that even a casteless dwarf _should_ know. Like the Legion of the Dead, the Silent Sisters, the Carta, the king and Orzammar, paragons-

_“Like in Mass Effect?” Kelaca joked, and Hissera just glared at her for the interruption._

-the caste system itself, and what being casteless truly meant in full; a lack of education, a lack of value for daughters, noble hunters and having noble sons elevating status, general poverty, shitty living conditions, broodmothers… and a whole host of crap that gave Hissera a headache trying to remember it all.

Spared from Varric’s curiosity while she devours her peppered vegetables, the mage then reminds herself of everything she’s learned pertaining to the particular ‘world state’ Mythal was insisted on tossing them into. It sure as shit wasn’t the ‘default’ one, because a couple things didn’t match, but it was a fairly pleasant one at least. She had yet to get her hands on a copy of _The Champion’s Tale_ and discover if they were secretly fucked somehow, but from asking sparse questions and dropping a couple ‘reminds me of the Hero of Ferelden’ and ‘I’d take a Blight over this any day’ lines, Hissera managed to glean the important details about Thedas’ history. 

\- The Arl of Redcliffe and his son are both alive and well, and Redcliffe had fared well against their nightly demon assaults thanks to the Hero and her company.  
\- Alistair and Anora are both on the Ferelden throne, married for an alliance with no mistresses to speak of, and apparently Harrowmont sits on the throne of Orzammar.  
\- Barring what happened at Ostagar, the Fifth Blight had gone incredibly well because almost every possible side was brought into the final battle; the mages, elves, dwarves (and their Legion of the Dead), and even Ferelden’s army.  
\- The Archdemon was slain at Fort Drakon and the Hero and all ‘her’ friends survived, though there was no word on whether one of them, particularly the Witch of the Wilds, was pregnant in the aftermath. In all likelihood, Morrigan had given birth to her Old God Baby, but Hissera isn’t planning to ask Leliana about that any time soon, for _extremely_ obvious reasons. 

On their own in their cabin this morning, Hissera voiced some concern about what decisions had been made regarding Branka and her anvil, and Kelaca, freakily enough, just _knew_ that the Anvil of the Void was smashed. It was nice they at least had that grain of knowledge, but damn if Mythal’s freaky compulsions weren’t still freaky.

_“Uh, so what is- was the anvil thing?” Kelaca asked after her ‘feeling’ wore off, perched at the foot bed her still unconscious friend was tucked into. _

_“You know it’s broken, but not what it could do?” Hissera groaned, exhausted from explaining more than a dozen complicated things to the little dwarf just since the sun rose._

All in all, she’s fucking proud of herself for doing so much hard work to keep the three of them alive in the future, and already compiled a mental list of what to tell Sati once the marked idiot finally wakes back up. There’s was a chance it would have to wait though, but the clumsy girl couldn’t do _that much_ harm before they got her alone for more than a few minutes; that first cutscene-meeting for the Inquisition’s revival seemed pretty harmless and impossible to fuck up. On the chance that Cassandra won’t actually need to see the Herald ‘at once,’ Hissera’s got the essential information sorted out, but considering their shit luck…  
Yeah, she’s probably going to skip briefing Sati ahead of time.

Resisting the pull of a smirk on her lips as she finishes off her chicken, she cracks her neck and thanks all the gods that Meera slipped some hair ties into their last crate of supplies, bless her. Now Hissera’s many tiny braids are contained in a thick and well-swept bun, out of the way of her face and no longer a heavy weight dragging her head down. As she knows that until the Inquisition starts up and they gain some momentum and influence they’ll be nearly _bare_ of approval and resources, she’s held off on asking for things like conditioners or nicer soaps. Her hair won’t suffer much if she keeps it up for a couple days, but it agitates her to ignore proper care so much. Meanwhile, Kelaca’s just had to fight her wild curls for three days and already mentioned she might ‘leave it be’ from now on. _Whimp_, the qunari remarks in her thoughts, staring at the dwarven girl over her empty plate.

Across the table, with Varric’s potatoes and corn all cleaned up, the rogue finally has a moment to start conversation again. “I heard about what happened, at the service yesterday.” On his second mug of ale, he’s only warmed up to them, but he brings up the worst highlight of their stay in Thedas. 

So far.

Kelaca swallows the last bite of her stew and just in time, her appetite sinking as a small wave of fury washes over her, “Yeah, that was pretty… what’s the word, ‘Era?”

“Shitty. Awful. Bad. Like Fen'Harel pissed on it. Take your pick.”

Varric grimaces lightly, rubbing at his face to rid himself of the memory of people howling with tears in their eyes, raw with emotions that all too easily boiled over. His voice is gravelly when he goes on, “I’d say terrible. I couldn’t see what happened, I was pretty deep in the crowds, but I heard everything from a couple of folks.” He got both sides of the story after the fact, not that they were conflicting, but rather just to get the perspectives and motives of everyone involved.

If he asked anybody, they’d say it started harmlessly. Both the Hands of the late Divine called for a service for the dead once they found, burned, and buried all the remains they could. The point was to mourn the four-hundred or so victims of the explosion; those holding the Conclave or just within the Temple calling for peace, those too close to the blast to be spared, and all the unfortunate people that were lost to demons and fallout- both soldiers and civilians.  
Everyone still in and around Haven attended. The remaining clerics and chantry sisters praying together. Some regular folks sharing hands along with their grief. A couple just inconsolable. At the start of the hour, a speech was given by the Seeker and the Nightingale together, the kind of respectful, appropriate thing that wasn’t too cheery and didn’t put the blame on anybody. 

But a few people, as people were natural to lean towards in mourning, were filled with anger. They’d do anything smother their sorrow or their fear- and it didn’t take more than a quarter-hour for one of them to spot the qunari and the dwarf (_specifically the two publicly paraded through Haven in chains days before_) sitting amongst the bereaved.

Of everybody he asked, they said it started with blame, and _then_ came the violence. Awful slurs first, then real stones were thrown. Sharp rocks aimed well enough to hit until the qunari woman pulled up a shield made of magical will, and then templars were reared up to take action. Ready to smite at a moment’s notice.  
Then the dwarven girl grabbed hold of her bigger friend’s hand, and they both looked so frightened, just as desperate and lost as everyone around them. A few people on the sidelines took notice, and they stood in defense of those two. _Maker-sent, blessed, saviours, nearly heroes,_ they were called, and were ushered and escorted away by the Seeker herself. That only fueled the words of the faithful, who professed belief that they were not the ones at fault. 

If anyone cared to ask him, he’d swear up and down that it was a miracle of its own kind that those fires of vengeance had burned out and hope, of all things, grew from the embers.

Neither Hissera nor Kelaca bore any bruises or scrapes, not physical anyway, from the incident, but clearly neither of them have forgotten the initial hate swung their way at the service. In Kirkwall, Varric saw the best and worst (mostly the latter) of shit, and if these two unlucky survivors had really been there in the past, then they’d seen some shit before too. He has a sense they’ll be alright, mostly because they’re both still here.

“Give them time,” is all he says, knowing that they don’t need to hear him explain the obvious. People often _love_ to blame somebody else when they’ve lost someone, but it doesn’t always last.

“I’m not sure we _have_ time,” Kelaca responds, pessimistically thinking about Chancellor Rude-prick and his thinly veiled threats that the three of them still face execution. Sure, Hissera promised her that once Sati woke up the tide would turn and they’d have Cassandra on their side, but that word just keeps bouncing around in her head. _“Execution,”_ she mumbles, groaning into her arms and burying her face there completely. 

Hissera finally drops her chair back down to the ground, rolling her eyes while the _thud_ gets her moping dwarven friend’s attention, “Quit fixating, Kels. We’ll be sticking around here for the long haul, trust me.” She’s certain she can get away with such a comment now, when she’s being only vaguely reassuring and just comforting the anxious little templar. 

Varric smiles wryly, well-meaning when he says to the mage, “You’re an optimist! Why Songbird, you’re full of surprises.”

She contains a _powerful squeal_ through a mighty, unseen effort, quickly coughing into her fist before she grins at him from across their short table. Leaning on her elbows now, she playfully returns his remark with her own, “Why Varric, I haven’t given you that encore yet.”

He chuckles and raises his flagon, “I guess you’re right, but there’s no rush.” They knock their drinks together, the snowy-haired dwarf perking up in her seat to watch the exchange. “After all,” Varric begins, a twinkle in his dark eyes, “-we’re here for the long haul, aren’t we?”

Kelaca gives him a curious but slightly delighted look as she quips, “You’re going to stay? I thought you were only here because Cassandra bullied you.” The Seeker was doing that to a lot of people, after all, with mostly good intentions though.

After he takes a deep breath and leans back against his chair, Varric pauses, mulling over her question. “Yeah,” he confirms, “After what we saw at the Temple and all those people… I won’t say I’m _not_ scared shitless of what’s going on- but I can’t just walk away.” Kelaca and Hissera both remember the strain on his face when they discovered red lyrium littering the ruins of that once reverent place, the former guessing and the latter knowing that he feels compelled to uncover the reason that creepy stuff wound up there. (Bianca. Bianca is the reason.)

Preferring not to leave on a half-depressing note, Hissera stands up from her seat and smirks. “We’ll probably be seeing you around then,” she offers the rogue, placing enough coins on the table to pay for hers and Kelaca’s meals. 

Varric nods again, this time without that burdening weight to it, “Sure thing.” He wishes the otherworlders farewell, and they do the same for him when they shuffle off towards the door. 

On their way out, Kelaca removes her coat from her waist and pulls it on properly while Hissera ties her coinpurse back to her belt. The taller of the two nudges one of the side doors open with her toe, her boot lightly thunking against the wood and struggling only once it pushed back the snow piling up outside. 

“Still weird that _you’re_ the space heater now,” Kelaca mumbles, commenting on her companion’s lack of a coat. She isn’t terribly bothered by the cold, but she doesn’t exude the same bodily warmth she used to, which is pretty disappointing.

“Guess so,” Hissera agrees dryly, looking up at the cloudy sky, the sun beginning to set over Haven. She isn’t wearing her vest and didn’t bring it along either; she already discovered that the chill around here is more bearable than biting wind on the roads higher and deeper in the mountains. While she never really got cold _before_, back then a light sweater was never amiss, so walking around in wintertime without any heavy layers is… different.  
So far, a good kind of different.

Now that the third day since they stormed the Breach is coming to a close, Hissera knows that sometime tomorrow Satina will actually break out of her coma. Assuming, of course, that things are still following the game’s logic and rules at least _a bit._ Their timeline hasn’t been off yet, but reality has pinched their asses on a few occasions and could easily do it again without warning. They don’t _actually_ know the future, just what it could _maybe_ be- and with all the crap they’d done without any fade-to-black video game shit, they’ve already put a lot more work into saving Thedas than the damn protagonist would at this point.  
Long story short, she’d kill to know _for sure_ what’s going to go down. Travel between places isn’t hand-waved, non-existent shit now; it’s real, and unpredictable. That’s _terrifying._

Snow furls and drifts down around them as they make the trek back to their cabin in contemplative silence, ignoring the few inevitable stares and glares and whispers that follow them through small crowds, gradually fading out as they get closer to the quieter end of Haven. The crunch of their footsteps in freshly laid snow accompanies them, each footfall made in a practiced rhythm with the girls walking side by side. Kelaca’s more accustomed to keeping up with the much longer stride of her fellow otherworlder now, getting better about handling her size. It’s one of their little victories, though whether they can pin it on their growing experience or the suspected compulsions of their _new habits_ is unknown. 

Personally, they both like to think they’re adjusting of their own accord, but they haven’t a fucking clue.

Their peace is disturbed when they’re three-quarters the way through their walk. One familiar figure crosses their path, quite literally, and suddenly stops when he notices the pair of odd survivors from the corner of his icy-blue eyes.

“Excuse me,” Solas calls to them, briefly directing a polite nod to the dwarf before setting a slightly concerned (and therefore mildly condescending) stare at the taller qunari woman. 

“Yes?” Hissera lifts her brows, and the elvhen man winces. It’s such a strange and unwarranted reaction that she gets annoyed with him pretty quickly, before she even knows why he’s stopped her.

He continues, unabashed, “Are you aware that your aura is… _overbearing_, you are walking amongst templars and frightened apostates, yet you do not make any effort to conceal yourself.” Solas is unarmed, his staff presumably left in whatever cabin he’s been holing up inside, but damn if he doesn’t just assault her anyway with his judgemental remark.

“Of course I’m aware,” she lies easily, propping out her hip and placing her hand upon it, matching his look of arrogance. Truthfully, she had absolutely no idea she was showing off any aura, but she figures it might be a natural thing that happens when she’s either relaxed or her emotions flare up. Magic isn’t exactly something she was _born with_, but she’s not going to show Solas any sign of her inexperience.  
Kelaca has been completely unbothered by Hissera’s presence, not recognizing anything she would consider classifying as an ‘aura’ in all their time together. She chooses not to mention that though, instead deciding to stay quiet on the sidelines of this meeting, studying both her friend and the bald fade-expert. A weird tingle begins to form in her neck, and she shivers, just as Solas lifts his head, eyes narrowing. 

“What reasoning do you have to antagonize those around you with your abilities?”

_Antagonize?_ She purposefully lets her spite roll out in waves, feeling it throughout her body rather than resisting it. The deceitful ‘hedgemage’ flinches again, moving to shield his eyes.

“You _are_ purposefully doing this, then. Or are you lacking in any control?”

“I’m not lacking anything, _Solas._ Did it ever occur to you that I’m stressed out after what happened at the fucking service the other day?” She allows strain and weakness to enter her voice, narrowing her own dark red eyes while an expression of distress pulls onto her stunning features.

Solas then proves he has the dignity to look ashamed, a blush coating the sharp angles of his face as he withdraws his accusation, “I apologize. I will admit that I lacked the thoughtfulness to consider the pressure you are under.”

Hissera gives him a curt nod, folding her arms against her chest and looking aside to compose herself, “Well… if that’s all, we were going back to our cabin, Sati needs her next dose of Adan’s elixirs.” The elvhen mage steps out of their path, nodding once more in a careful apology, and together the two otherworlders walk past him, exchanging brief (and slightly awkward) parting words. 

Once their journey resumes, she drops her mask of vulnerability, rolling her eyes and putting her hand atop the fluffy cloud of her short friend’s hair, _“Dick.”_

“Are… Are we going to be okay?” Kelaca asks her suddenly, her stride slowing as they finally get within sight of their assigned shelter.

Hissera snorts, “Duh.” She’s certain the little templar would cheer up once their mutual friend is up and about, and hopefully she and Kels won’t have to dance around the prying apostate so much because Solas will be too busy losing his mind over Sati’s… everything. Hissera loves her friends, really, but now that Sati’s an _elf_ with the mother-fucking _Anchor_ stuck to her forever, she makes the perfect bait to keep the _Dread Wolf_ at bay from her own plans.  
She’s not exactly fond of his master plan in _Trespasser_, and if she’s going to sabotage him from right under his stupid wolf-nose, then somebody’s gotta keep that guy off her back. Moments ago it was way, way easier to trick the old god than she expected it to be, but she figures he’s just out of fucking practice, because the hype for _DA4_ really made him sound terrifying. 

There’s a pause between the otherworlders when they kick the snow off their boots, the gears of Hissera’s manipulative thoughts halting as significant realization hits her like a ton of bricks.  
_Oh shit, that thing._

“Hey Kels,” the mage frowns down at her cute dwarven companion, who pulls open their cabin door and steps inside first.

Kelaca looks back over her shoulder, curious, “Yeah?”

“I think I forgot to tell you some pretty big fucking lore.”

Over the course of a half of an hour, Hissera remedies her slight mistake while they both undress and change into their nightly attire. She spends more than a minute or two just admiring the expanse of her longer legs, sinewy but covered in a satisfying layer of softer flesh and hardly showing any scars. What few of them there are, are all paper thin and scattered, no signs of devastating injuries. As she dives into her explanation, she studies the nearly hypnotic, metallic shine to her dark amber skin. It’s strange that her body quite literally _bronze_ in colour now, but feels that it was an awesome decision on her part as her best alternative was fucking _grey._  
She tightens her bun when she gives Kelaca a short run-down of the ancient Elvhen people, soon washing her face and putting on a larger russet tunic. The dark, reddish fabric curtains over the swell of breasts fuller than they once were, but proportional to her bigger frame. Idly, while she runs her hand along new shapes and curves, familiar but different, she reminds herself that she liked her old body just fine, but this new one is possibly equally pleasing.

Kelaca is incensed when she learns the true nature of the ‘Elvhen Gods,’ getting pissed because those _evanuris assholes_ got off hate and blame-free in Dalish history; all of them regaled as heroic and benevolent guides for their people and not the _enslaving, branding dickheads_ they really were. While brushing her fingers through the tangles in her snowy curls, she pays close attention to Hissera’s rendition of Mythal, their magical benefactor (and dungeon master), and what her role was. She pulls off her boots, tossing them beneath the old wood frame of her cot beside her chest of monster loot, breathing out her fury through her nose.  
As Hissera mentions very important stuff, Kelaca watches her own pale hands, marred by foreign callouses from practiced swordplay and probable experience with knives, tug off her thick woolen socks. Her feet are pretty small now, and her legs so very short, but beneath all her clothes and her milky skin, she’s very fit. Strong, nicely-defined muscles are decorated by a few sparse moles, and she finds tough scars on her knuckles, toes, and another peculiar one on the inside of her bottom lip that she often pokes at with her tongue when she’s bored. 

Some changes she’s accepted without any trouble, but others, while not unwelcome, are taking her a while to get used to; specifically her new secondary sex-characteristics. According to her more experienced friend, Kelaca’s breasts are nice handfuls. They’re just enough fatty tissue that she feels the need to wear a breastband outside of their cabin, and those things have been surprisingly supportive, though they leave her sore as fuck after a while. On that first day in Haven, she completely justifiably looked down her trousers and found that the apparent _all-mother of the elves_ delivered on her promise for the blessing of both sets of genitalia.

She figures the old woman can’t be all bad then, and that consideration grows when Hissera relays that Mythal was murdered by the other evanuris for working alongside Fen’Harel, the so-called trickster who wanted to rebel against them.

“Wait,” Kelaca asks, sticking her head up through the massive peach-coloured tunic she’s been given to sleep in, “-if she was murdered, how did we meet her?”

“It’s complicated,” Hissera doesn’t even bat an eye as she bends over, rifling through the crate Meera must have delivered while they were out. “She split herself into pieces, the biggest one is merged with a woman called Flemeth, who there could possibly be more than one of…” She waves one hand to show how messy the subject is, the other getting hold of a glass flask filled to the brim with a vibrant teal liquid. The medicine Adan had delivered around midday was the consistency and the colour of honey, but checking his included note, Hissera learns that he’s significantly decreased the amount of embrium and jacked up the dose of elfroot so Sati will ‘have a controlled night of recovery, rather than suffering.’  
Before this afternoon, the priority was just to keep the half-dead girl stable against a raging fever and horrible fits of mana-sickness. Now the alchemist’s task is to actually replenish some of her body’s energy and finally treat any number of potential internal surprises, like secret hemorrhaging or muscle atrophy- _because apparently_, the Mark could have been eating at any part of her for energy before it went for her mana. 

Shit news to get, really, but it made sense.

The mage stands up, her muscles hardly even protesting the move, and strides over to Satina’s bedside. Going through a familiar routine, she tips the elven girl’s head back, uncorks the potion, and slowly pours it down her throat. Another little victory is that even in sleep Sati’s body still knows how and when to swallow, so medicating her goes smoothly. Once the whole mixture is gone, Hissera places the bottle aside and pulls the swath of blankets off her friend. 

Doing her part, Kelaca brings over a basin of water stacked atop a stool and fetches a few rags from their supply crate as the official caretaker strips Sati of her loose clothing and gives her a light sponge bath. Back before they woke in Thedas, all the elf’s friends had seen her design for her head-to-toe tattoos, and seeing it bodily, they have to admit it looks pretty cool. Not very ‘elf-like’ with all the sharp angles, tridents, and decorative dots, but the knowledgeable otherworlder thinks they’ll pass for markings of Tevene origins.

“Hey, there’s more clothes for us in there, right?” Hissera asks after a while, tossing her head in the direction of their box of necessities. The little dwarf nods, running back over and rifling through it, shiny purple eyes looking up and across the room to her taller companion.

“Couple things in here. You need a new nightshirt for her?”

“I guess that’s right, what’re the options?” Hissera concedes, confusing her conscious friend slightly with her choice of words. 

A fairly obedient soul, Kelaca shrugs and verbally lists off everything they’ve been given and how much; three breastbands; a mismatch assortment of socks; a single set of small gloves; some candles; a book on the _Chant of Light_ (which they ignore now and have ignored every day so far); four replacement shirts, one red and long-sleeve, one brown and very short-sleeved tunic, one white blouse, and one vaguely ugly beige coat; two sets of pants, one seemingly meant for the dwarf by relative size, and the other just some thick leather leggings that match the ugly coat; finally, a few pairs of panties and a single pair of what goes for boxers, much to the dwarf’s relief.

With their full inventory made, Hissera wears a smug grin, hiding it from Kelaca when she plops down on the bed beside Sati. “Awesome,” is all she says, leaning down to kiss her comatose friend on the forehead. 

Kelaca moves to join her, with a bit of difficulty, but she manages to sit on the edge of the bed taller than her own. Each of their beds are pretty basic, simple wooden frames with mattresses filled with cotton, a single pillow (they agreed Sati could have it for now), and vaguely scratchy, thick quilts for blankets. The cabin itself is small and already stuffed to the brim with the three of their cots, all laid in a row next to one another. They’d put Sati on the middle one for mutual reassurance, and from the worn carvings in bedframes and the obvious signs of self-sufficient hunting tools, religious icons stuck to the walls, and their remote location, they were both pretty sure this was originally a bunkhouse for pilgrims. Ones seeking to visit the now-destroyed Temple, who…er.  
That very first night, before Meera departed, she cleared the place out of things left behind. Their room was apparently vacant solely because whoever had it before was _at_ the Temple of Sacred Ashes when it went up. Lovely.

Pushing the reminders of death from her mind, the dwarf goes back to their old conversation. “Anything else you need to tell me about those ancient elves?” Kelaca asks her qunari friend, affectionately brushing dark lock of hair out of Sati’s face with one of her small hands. 

Hissera clicks her tongue, “Yeah, Solas is one of them.”

Spluttering, Kelaca raises her head to meet Hissera’s rust-red stare over their sleeping companion, _“What?_ Is that why he’s so arrogant and shit?”

“Funny you should say that. In old elvhen, _Solas_ means _pride.”_

“That’s a little on the fucking nose from the devs, don’t you think?”

“Oh, he’s not _just_ an ancient elf, Kels.”

“…What is he then?” She hesitates to ask, because Hissera’s showing her teeth.

Cackling, the mage replies, _“Fen’mother-fucking’Harel,_ bitch.” Quickly, she has to yank the pillow out from beneath Sati’s head to smother the tiny templar’s scream of indignance.

_“Orr-itting-e!”_ Kelaca howls against the fluffy barrier, likely trying to say _‘you’re shitting me’_ but coming out twice as hilarious because of the pillow’s interference.

“Ha! Fucking _you wish_, and this whole mess is his fault.” Glaring, confusion in her shiny gemstone eyes, Kelaca starts to chatter through the wall of cotton and thread, her words totally indiscernible. Hissera shushes her, going on, “Hey, I’ll explain. _Chill.”_

The dwarf smacks the pillow away, and Hissera tucks it back under Sati’s head when Kelaca gets onto her knees on the bed, her hands on her thighs, “You really expect me to chill out right now!” Her voice is a hissed shout, quiet in case any sneaky scouts outside are waiting to eavesdrop on any shouting or something. Their cabin’s only window has a curtain over it, and while there is a fireplace that Meera tends to for them, she doubts there’s a medieval ninja waiting on their roof and listening to the chimney for secrets.

Hissera shrugs, leaning back on her hands, her body half-twisted to face Kelaca, “Kind of. I mean, he didn’t intend for it to explode _here.”_

“What’s _‘it’_?” 

“His focus, a weird metal orb storing like, centuries of powerful magic. After he created the Veil,” she thanks a whole host of gods that she already explained what _that whole thing_ was back in their old world, “-he basically went into a recovery meditation coma. He woke up, found everything sucked, his power mostly gone, and his orb too strong for him to unlock or activate, or whatever.”

“So he gave it to someone else to open for him, right?”

Snapping her fingers, Hissera nods an affirmative, “Bingo. So the big furry god gave his magical nuke ball to a blighted magister,” Kelaca rightfully assumes that was the sinister shadow echoed in the Temple, “-and _that_ guy opened the damn thing at the Conclave for entirely evil reasons.”

“…And… he’s probably still alive too, isn’t he?” Kelaca groans, assuming the worst from classic tropes and just probable story-telling logic. Villains never die easy.

“Yeah, but we don’t need to worry about him for a while. It’ll prove our innocence for good when he does show himself, though, because he straight up takes credit.” A yawn breaks Hissera’s next line, and she starts to withdraw from Sati’s bed, “Just be nice to Solas if you can, we kind of want him on our side, for _sooo many_ reasons.” 

“Ugh,” gagging for dramatic effect, Kelaca slides off the side of the bed and migrates over to her own. She climbs under her weird ass quilt (in some yellow-black pattern called ‘plaide-weave’) and watches while Hissera snuffs out all their torches. The little dwarf burrows herself beneath everything she can, whining, “But he’s so fake-humble, I haaaaate iiiiit.”  
At least now she understands why Solas is an _expert_ on all this crap, but man, that just kind of makes him a bad actor, right?

The fireplace still roars, granting some measure of light, but also necessary warmth. At night, even Hissera isn’t immune to the chill of winter in a godforsaken mountain range aptly named the _Frost_backs. “Fucking deal, or make Sati do it,” the qunari woman groans, finally settling into her own bed, her eyes already shutting tight. In the past, she used to read comics or books on her phone until she felt exhausted enough to rest. Now, without her phone and all her stories, she just has to entertain herself with the mantra _Bull is at the Storm Coast, I can meet Bull when we get to the Storm Coast._  
So far, that mindset has given her pretty lewd, pretty vivid dreams, which she never used to have before waking up in Thedas. She’s not in any control of them, but they’re entertaining, to say the least.

Kelaca on the other hand, has had absolutely _no_ dreams. She wasn’t exactly an avid dreamer at any point in her life, but it happened sometimes. Hissera told her when she chose her racial origin, that dwarves just _can’t_ dream. It makes her feel robbed, even though she didn’t ever get much from them before, but apparently that keeps her safer from demons. 

Sleep still comes easily, one more victory to tally up.

When morning comes, they both feel well-rested but rise with different levels of enthusiasm.

The pair of otherworlders sit together at a modest table in the little cabin they’ve all but memorized as of late, mulling over the last three days since the Breach was stabilized and impatiently awaiting their third companion’s return to the land of the waking. 

Already dressed, the sole qunari tugs her boots over the expanse of her toned legs and wonderfully strong knees, but still she pauses midway in her task to massage around the joint, a habit she doubts she’ll break. Her formerly hypermobile joints are now just as stable as the Veil.  
_Right_, she reminds herself, that isn’t an accurate comparison, _the Veil is kind of in a shitty state right now._  
The discovery had lifted her spirits immensely on that first day in Haven, when she bent over and could only reach her toes. Normally, or rather, _previously_, her body naturally stretched itself so much that she was able to place her palms flat on the fucking floor without any kind of warmup. Upon their fourth day now, both Hissera and Kelaca have had plenty of opportunities to make revelations about their new bodies and weird, partial ‘memories.’ 

Once she finishes her simple task, the mage cracks and pops the joints in her neck, sore from bending it down so much to look at her short-as-fuck friend all the time. 

Meanwhile, Kelaca just drinks some water and sits idly, still in her night tunic. It reaches her knees and keeps her warm enough under all her quilts that she’s tried twice now to stay in it during the day. 

_“But ‘Eraaaaaa, it’s cozy, and I’ll wear pants!”_

_“You were given other shirts, fucking wear them.”_

Hissera can admit her friend looks pretty cute in her sleeping tunic, but it really isn’t practical or normal for people in Thedas to go around outside in their pajamas. Since they’d shockingly been given full freedom to explore Haven after a harsh bout of _trial-by-questioning_, she insisted that the dwarf dress properly, and Kelaca begrudgingly promised to do so. 

It was only after seven straight hours of painful interrogation from the Hands of the late Divine that the pair of them were finally deemed trustworthy and uninvolved to a degree that they didn’t need to be locked up in the dungeons anymore. Sure, that’s a good thing, but _seven hours of being passed between those two?_  
The roots of Hissera’s hair still sting when she moves her braids, just from how harshly they were gripped and yanked by the Seeker- and no matter how kindly or casually words are spoken compared to the aggressive and invasive style of the bard, her temples throb every time she hears an Orlesian accent. Their first day without Sati, the conscious otherworlders, still exhausted from the battles the previous day, were violently badgered about their history and intentions. Hissera had to fabricate her background in the moment, under strain and questioned without mercy.

_“Who are you?” Leliana demanded to know, her eyes sharp, a raven poised to strike at the first sign of hesitance._

_“Hissera Kata,” the qunari bared her teeth, sat stock still in a wooden chair, isolated in a small room. While located in the same basement as the dungeons, it wasn’t a cell; there was a desk and a bookshelf, and an ornate chest stuffed with documents. She was clearly in some kind of study, maybe even the Nightingale’s._

_A single torch lit the room from behind Leliana, and silhouetted by shadows and firelight, the hooded woman was a touch more threatening than usual._

_“Why did you come to the Conclave?” The question was spoken so cooly. Leliana never raised her voice, yet she was still harsh enough that Hissera fought the instinct to flinch._

_“That night? Wanted to see pretty windows. Overall?” Sassing the woman was a terrible idea, but Hissera couldn’t help herself, “Looking for our friend. My cousin, Julia Galus.”_

_Leliana stalked around her, then planted her gloved hands firmly upon the arms of her prisoner’s chair, “And did you find your cousin? What were your plans?”_

_“The fuck do _you_ think? If he was there, he’s dead. If he were here, he’d have heard about us and come to you looking!” Hissera snorted. She tried her hardest to stay angry so she wouldn’t get turned on by the bard’s dominating display, bitter at the hassle of it all. “Plan? We were just going to meet up.”_

_Clearly unsatisfied with that response, Leliana moved on, her eyes narrowed, “Where did you come from?”_

_“My mommy’s tummy.” Dead-pan and all to buy time. It earned her a painful slap._

_The question was asked again- “Where did you come from?”_

_“Shit, fine, we were in Kirkwall before this!”_

_“Is that where you were born?”_

_“No, I wasn’t born anywhere special, just in a crappy farm home. My parents were Tal-Vashoth, we weren’t stupid enough to live around a bunch of people.” Sweat dripped down her forehead, along the bridge of her nose. It may as well have been blood, and Leliana a predator that scented it._

_“You are a mage, were you ever in a Circle, did you ever have dealings with templars?” Ah, the red-haired woman sought motive now._

_Hissera leaned back, rolled her eyes, and shook her head, “Do I look tranquil to you? Or taught? You saw me do magic.” No Circle mage fought like her, that was for damn sure._

_“Templars?” Leliana gave away nothing of her thoughts as she picked at her prey’s worn armor._

_“I’ve enjoyed keeping one on a leash,” Hissera smirked, “I can’t say I really have a problem with them.”_

Since she’s currently alive, breathing, and sans any stab wounds, Hissera would say it went pretty well. As soon as that oh so wonderful round of conservation concluded, she and an only slightly bruised Kelaca (who’d been alone with Cassandra last) returned to their shoddy, assigned cabin and took care of Sati. Neither of them had met any of the future advisors yet, apparently unworthy- 

Alright, that wasn’t it. Really, the two of them were avoiding the Chantry, the apparent base of operations, like the goddamn plague.

After all that shit, they’d spent the whole afternoon just exchanging information with each other and making thorough examinations of their new bodies. It was overdue, since they hadn’t had an appropriate place to do it, or a moment of privacy until then.

_Hissera was the first to walk back into the cabin, unceremoniously, after she almost knocked the stiff door from its hinges when it showed resistance. Her feet thudded down on the rough wooden floor, her braids all scattered and in her face. She pushed them out of the way, back over her shoulder, and stumbled across the room to a bronze basin balanced precariously on a shoddy stool. She found a foggy reflection of herself in a pool of freshly melted snow, and unsatisfied by that, she waved her hand across the surface with specific intent._  
_The water froze over delicately, transformed into a makeshift mirror that would serve its purpose, to a degree. _

_Eyes the color of gathered blood took in her appearance piece by piece. Slowly, Hissera studied the newly angular set to her jaw, some of the softness having melted away from her face with the jump to a new world. Her skin looked barely discernible in shade from the metal tub she stared into, as dark as before, but now with a metallic shine of amber. She shifted her attention lower, towards her own body, and first her larger hands reached up to cup her breasts, only moving on after she gave them a squeeze. Her palms slid down over the soft curves of her hips and her ass, then her own arms. She found muscles still hidden under a pleasing, squishable layer, and a smirk set itself on her full lips, “Well shit, I’d fuck me.”_

_A sudden crash pulled her thoughts away from her morphed appearance, and she saw Kelaca lying face down on the floor, a rumpled carpet beneath her. Quickly, the smaller girl let out a pitiful groan, “Whyyyyyyyy?” She’d never tripped like this before in her life, what happened?!_

_“New legs? _Short_ legs?” Snorted her now taller friend, unsympathetic. As soon as Kelaca composed herself and sat up on her knees, Hissera gestured the dwarf over to washing basin, “On that note, come take a look at your face, wouldn’t do to have you shocked by it later.”_

_Kelaca picked herself up from the floor and staggered to meet her friend by the water basin perched atop a stool, briefly stunned by the realization that she was barely a head above the lip of the tub. Cautiously, she inspected her icy reflection and saw a precious face surrounded by curly tufts of snowy hair, each strand almost blended into the nearly ethereal nature of her skin. Violet eyes with flecks of vibrant pink stared back at what she quickly determined was really, _really_ herself now. She had passably cherubic features on her foreign face, but her rounded cheeks were marred by a blackened, geometric brand on the right side. With some hesitation, she reached up and touched the raised markings, immediately a little displeased by how unsightly it was._

_When her head craned upwards, Kels looked at her friend and a parody of horror entered her voice, “I’m cute. Adorable even.”_

_“I know.” Hissera’s arms crossed and she grinned wolfishly, “Don’t worry, I’d bang you too.”_

_“You have,” the dwarf delivered flatly, entirely unamused by the prospect of losing her formerly intimidating nature. Even if Kelaca could see a certain appeal to being rid of the inconvenience of ducking under every doorway lest her head smack into it, there was a strong sensation of disconnection that stemmed from this change alone. If she were still over six foot she felt as if she’d be completely fine with their magical world-jump, but now she’s just a bit more than four foot at most. How was she meant to reconcile that?_

The transition was going much better now that time has passed.  
Kelaca’s a bit more careful in a lot of little ways, and those were slowly becoming more natural habits. She still takes her time to hop on and off of chairs and stools, but she treks up stairs, runs around, and gets dressed pretty easily. Ignoring the physical transmogrifications she went through though, she’s noticed that all her laziness and fiery rage has remained inside her- and that’s seriously reassuring. Knowing that at her core she’s still herself, each of her decisions and her growing adjustment to this new identity feels natural and safe. She can tell there aren’t any kind of compulsions for their behavior and their own thoughts, at least.

After a short moment and at Hissera’s prodding, Kelaca picks out her clothes from the crate and dresses herself. She’s learned the motions to wrap her breasts protectively, thankful that the globes of fat aren’t so heavy and she can actually get some support from the secondhand bra-substitute. Trying on the new pants and fitting herself with the short-sleeved tunic, she looks up just in time to see Hissera dressing Sati in the weird set of beige clothes.

“Isn’t that kind of an ugly outfit?” She asks, and Hissera smirks.

“Sure is.”

“…Alright,” deciding not to poke at that bees nest, Kelaca settles down at the table once more, drumming her fingers on the surface. She watches Hissera finish fastening Sati into her all her layers; first her underclothes, then the white blouse, the odd leather leggings, and lastly the unflattering animal-hide coat.

When the qunari finally steps away, she nods proudly at her handiwork, then turns to plop down into the chair beside her dwarven friend. She’s already dressed in the red shirt and the same pants from yesterday, which bothers her slightly. Once the Inquisition finally forms later today, she’s going to ask the councilor whatever-the-fuck for more clothes, because their stuff will totally get ruined fighting more crap later.  
They still have some coin left, so Hissera _could_ go pester Seggrit to see if he has anything she can use, but she’s hesitant to buy anything practical yet. Things like bags, tools, or weapons, she’s told Kelaca they should wait on, just in case those will be provided for them.

“Any minute now…” Hissera mumbles, rubbing at her temples to keep a headache born from the strain of so much _thinking_ and _planning_ away. When she starts to hum a tune to pass the time, she almost misses the sound of Satina hiss quietly. Almost. Her head snaps up and she smacks Kelaca’s arm, pointing over at the middle bed where the game’s plot proves it still has a hand in things.

The scrappy elf rouses slowly, lifting herself to her elbows and shaking away a heavy fog over her mind. _“Ngh,”_ Sati groans, feeling the tell-tale shakes of low blood sugar and the gross pressure of something in her lungs. Her eyes barely open yet, she still quickly recognizes her larger friend move in and hold her steady as she sits up. Hissera helps her lean forward over the edge of her bed and violently cough, and Kelaca brings over a tan handkerchief up to bury her face into. When the fit passes, her airways satisfactorily clear, she leans back and sees black ash, wet from her saliva sticking to the old cloth. In a bit of a daze, her whole body stiff, she says flatly, “I feel like shit.”

With a snicker, Hissera cradles the girl from a place beside her on her cot, teasing, “Welcome back to the land of the living, dumbass.” Standing at the foot of the bed, Kelaca is grinning widely, stretching her cheeks with the effort to show just how fucking _happy_ she is to see her friend up and talking. Sati returns the smile, tired and less beaming with enthusiasm, but sincere and warm.

“Oh yeah, it’s _real_ nice to be back.”

Snorting, Hissera pinches the girl in her side, “Lucky you, bitch, you missed out on all the half-dozen interrogations we sat through, and some other depressing shit.”

After a squeak, the sickly elf nods sympathetically and rolls back her shoulders, “Mmn, did anything fun happen?”

“No,” Hissera deadpans, finally having someone other than the bubbly and protective dwarf to vent to. She rubs at Sati’s stiff muscles though, aware that there’s got to be some awful knots in her now.

“Suuucks,” sighing gratefully, the elf shuts her eyes again. She stays upright, but rests on her larger friend as she mentally lines down the aches and stings across her body. After a short log of _wow nothing feels that great_, she notices something weighty on her right foot and blinks her eyes back open, confused to see a thick wrap of bandages and sticks around her big toe and crossing around to her ankle for security. _“Did I break my fucking toe?”_

Hissera narrows her eyes, openly a little vexed, _“That’s_ your first question? Not, ‘how bad is it’ or ‘do we have to go see Cassandra?’ Because the answer is _you’re being held together by popsicle sticks, glue, and duct tape_, and _yes we have to go see Cassandra.”_ Ranting to expel some of her own worry that built over days for the unlucky shapeshifter, _and_ some of her general frustration with Haven, she gestures for Kelaca to grab the pitcher of water and help their idiot friend.

“Well I like my toes…” 

“Of course,” Hissera sighs, taking a wooden stein from Kelaca to raise it up to Sati’s lips, who obediently tips her head back slightly to get a much-needed drink. Just then, the door to their cabin opens, nudged by the boot of a familiar servant girl. When hazel-green eyes land on the three of them- one of them no longer out cold in the bed but _sitting up and staring at her_, she gasps sharply and drops the box in her arms.

“Meera, no, chill-” Hissera commands, but the girl drops to her knees and bows to them all anyway. _“Meera, no.”_ As if she’s scolding a child, she has no remorse for the flat and deep tone of her voice, not even when Meera starts to tremble down on their rug. 

Sati blanches, her drink lowered out of her face, and quickly says, “I-It’s nice to meet you, you can get up- _please_ get up, actually.” 

“Yes, my lady.” With a sniveling nod, Meera does stand back up, but she hunches over meekly, wringing her hands together. “Th-They say you saved us, you and your friends!” She really wasn’t this bad before… or maybe she was, and she’d actually timed her deliveries to be when the cabin was empty on purpose.

“Ah, that’s-” Sati coughs, trying to smile when a feverish wave washes over her, “-good.” 

The servant girl quickly bends down and rifles through the fallen crate for medicine, her gaze locked onto her task, but she speaks clearly, “The Breach stopped growing, just like the mark on your hand. It’s all anyone has talked about for the last three days!” Meera glances at the propped up _Herald_, murmuring, “What everyone thought about all of you at first, I know it isn’t true.”  
After promising that little vote of confidence, she brings a potion and a sprig of dried elfroot over to the three of them, the healthy ones helping their weak friend drink down the whole bottle and then nibble on the faded stalk. 

_Damn, Thedas’ elfroot is pretty versatile. Doesn’t taste like anything though_, Sati realizes while her head clears up a little. Her throat less raw but her voice still craggily, she addresses the other, more flighty elf, “Thank you, Meera, really. It’s nice to meet you…” She lifts her arm, holding out her left hand for a proper greeting. Meera glances down at the glimmering mark on a tattoo’d palm, and after following her gaze, Sati moves to drop it back down, “Oh, my bad-”

A smile quirks onto Meera’s thin lips, and she clasps both her hands around Sati’s marked one before it can be withdrawn all the way, “This is why I know it couldn’t have been you three. You- You’re all so normal, and honest.”

Blushing up to the tips of her pointy ears, Satina smiles back, and Kelaca giggles, “Aw shucks, Meera!” The little templar logs more evidence that their servant friend is just too precious for this world. Hissera on the other hand, hides a wicked smirk of amusement behind her hand, managing to look bashful, rather than mischievous. 

None of them are _evil_ per say, but the qunari woman doesn’t go out of her way to do good. She’s not outwardly cruel, but thought to be more than a little sadistic; a strong moral compass, but not one aligned to most people’s standards; selfish, but not incapable of doing things for others, requiring of course that she actually gives a shit about those individuals; and not a fan of assholes. Meera’s trust is less flattering and more _useful_ to her, convenient, even.

Kelaca is genuinely invested in the well-being of others, but only when those are people who deserve it. She’s the type to put someone out of their misery and fucking annihilate whatever ruined that person; capable of considerable empathy but prone to vengance and her personal brand of justice; always looking out for the little people and ready to wreck the rude shitheads that step on them; in short, _vive la’fucking resistance._ Having seen and learned a few things about how elves aren’t in a great place in Thedas or treated all that well, she’s already willing and ready to kill someone that fucks with Meera.

Satina has difficulties _not_ being empathetic towards someone, even if they’re against her, due completely to how she was raised to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. She’s gentle and considerate when she can be, but that often leaves her vulnerable to be taken advantage of by strangers; she’s all for giving someone second and third chances, but when they don’t even try to repair whatever mistakes they’ve made her care completely switches off; she’s _all-or-nothing_ when it comes to acknowledging someone as a _person_\- and when she can’t do that, she knows she’s capable of doing unspeakable things to them. Meeting Meera now and seeing the honesty and bravery in her despite bearing such a timid nature, she gives a shit about how the girl feels, and it would take a lot for that to change. 

Unaware of the depths to the natures of the otherworlders bunched together on a single bed, Meera just sees three people. All close, considerate, and incapable of the devastation brought to the Conclave. She hopes that everyone else might see that, too.  
“Oh!” She perks up, looking around the room and suddenly jumpy once more, “I-I nearly forgot! Lady Cassandra will want to know you’ve wakened! She said ‘at once’!” Deviating just a little from the NPC’s reaction in the game, Meera turns to give them all a parting wave before she ducks through the still-cracked front door.

“She runs fast,” Sati mumbles, curling into her friends, who both shuffle away, much to her dismay.

“Yeah, we should too,” Hissera turns and carefully hoists Satina and a small blanket into her arms like a bride. The small elf can’t exactly walk on her bad foot, nor does she look strong enough to stand for more than a minute yet, so she’s going to carry her. She got dressed ahead of time _fully_ expecting that the servant openly recognized to visit them regularly will be noticed _sprinting_ through Haven towards the Chantry. “Let’s go, before the crowds can actually gather,” the mage insists, already walking over to the door, and Kelaca quickly drops off the bed to tug on her socks and boots.

Sati looks petrified, gently linking her arms around her qunari friend’s shoulders, “Oh Gods, the fucking _crowds.”_

Glaring at the dwarf that’s holding them up, Hissera starts to pass through the exit anyway, “Kels, we’re leaving now. Three, two, _one_…”

Kelaca squeaks indignantly, but rushes to her feet and catches up just as they step outside into Haven, where a clear, sunny day greets them. No clouds and snowfall in sight, except for the swirling mess of the Breach on one side of the sky, of course. 

Straight away, there’s a line of twenty soldiers standing guard, saluting with their arms crossed over their chests in fists and forming a straight path onwards. Not a great sign, possibly foreshadowing Haven’s impossible response time. Walking with their heads held high, they don’t see anyone else yet though, and nearly breathe a sigh of relief. Hissera leads them all down the longer route, expecting that it’s not the one Meera took and therefore nobody in that direction will be waiting to see them go by.

A-_fucking_-parrently her assumption turns out to be completely wrong. 

Word must have spread the day before that the ‘blessed elf’ was going to wake up today, because _dozens and dozens_ of people are outside, way more than usual, and on the goddamn lookout for the three of them. 

Hissera groans viciously in Sati’s dark hair, instantly annoyed, but marches on to their doom because turning around now would look weird. Kelaca tries to keep her head up, braced for pushing through crowds, but immediately that proves unnecessary. Completely different to the service days prior, everyone steps back to let them pass, and that’s instantly more unpleasant. (A _little_ cool, though.) 

Most of the civilians are quiet, whispering things, but some call out prayers or strange things, and the short templar catches the words _Andraste, Maidens, Maker, Herald_, and _Breach._ Mob-mentality of the faithful at it’s finest, alright. 

The unnerving effect spreads as they progress, so their entire journey, people are ready and waiting to watch and bless or thank them. _Great._

_“That’s her, the Herald of Andraste!”_ One lady gasps, and the young man beside her breathes out an obvious prayer, embracing her. _Super._

A different man places the back of his hand on his forehead, tears swimming in his eyes as he speaks a little loudly, “They said when they came out of the fade, Andraste herself was watching over them.”

_“Hush!”_ Another woman says to him, unseen in the thick of the crowds, “We shouldn’t disturb her.” By the way people shift around in a noticeable wave, Hissera can tell that some are running ahead to spread the news. _Stellar._

They come upon a familiar wooden building and see a kid rush inside, who shouts, _“The Maidens are going by!”_ Immediately, more people flood out of the tavern’s doors, coming to gawk. A dwarf in a red vest and a thick brown coat steps into the sunlight behind a young couple, no signature crossbow fixed on his back but nonetheless recognizable.  
Varric gives the three girls a sympathetic nod, and Hissera allows a grimace to appear on her face, because at least somebody gets how this must fucking feel. Kelaca keeps fighting the urge to reach out and grab the end of Hissera’s shirt, walking beside her and feeling so strangely _big_, like nothing in the world could hide her, even as short as she is. _Awesome._

This experience literally the worst thing any of them can think of. Worse than Leliana and Cassandra beating them up or questioning them again. Sati didn’t even deal with any of that, but she’d take it over this all the same.

_“Why did Lady Cassandra have them in chains?”_ An older man asks, directing his question to no one at all, ignorantly adding, “I thought Seekers knew everything.”

An aged woman with messy grey hair nudges him, presumably his wife or sister, and she scolds, “It’s complicated, Henric, we were all frightened just after the explosion.”

“It isn’t complicated,” a younger man says from beside her, skinny and tall, but a carbon copy of the elder man, possibly the couple’s son. He doesn’t take his eyes off the three survivors when they pass his family, “Andraste herself blessed them all.” _Best day ever._

Some crowds block the smaller side paths that Hissera would have taken to reach the Chantry sooner, lengthening their journey yet, so they even go past Seggrit’s fucking shop. One soldier salutes on their arrival, another ten standing at attention and making certain that the civilians don’t follow too closely. It’s nice that Cassandra or Leliana thought of this happening and took measures to escort them to a certain degree, but seriously, this sucks a lot no matter the little blessings that come their way.

At least that’s how Hissera feels until Sati sneezes, and a woman faints. That really _does_ make her feel better. She’s not uncomfortable with all the crowds and the staring, but it’s _such_ an inconvenience to have people herding her around the whole goddamn settlement.

Up a short flight of stairs, Kelaca realizes from previous exploration that they’ve nearly crossed two thirds of Haven, rather than the mere quarter they needed to. Her brows twitch with nervous agitation when strangers just keep saying things about her and her friends like they’re deaf. When someone occasionally wishes them luck or even gives thanks, she feels a little alright, but only by a very tiny margin.

It only gets worse the closer they get to the Chantry, finding more faithful people, some who kneel along the edge of the path and bow their heads to them. 

A pair of scouts exchange words over the din of quiet reverence, _“That’s her, she stopped the reach from growing- Martel was there and saw it.”_

“I heard she was supposed to close it entirely,” one shakes their head, dismissing their own judgement, “It’s more than anyone’s done. Demons would have had us otherwise.”

From behind, a female soldier join them to put in her two cents, “Still a lot of rifts left all over. Little cracks in the sky.”

The first turns back to her, nodding and pointing out at the three figures passing by just two yards away, “She can seal those though- the Herald of Andraste.”

Clicking her tongue, the soldier crosses her arms, “Someone had better. You won’t seal those rifts with the Chant of Light.” _You said it, lady._

Once the discomforted trio walks through another heap of soldiers in lines, they _finally_ see the grand Chantry building in sight, and that relief is immediately crushed by the presence of more than a dozen people in religious garb idling outside the old stone cathedral. Thankfully, these people at least don’t quite stare so hard, most speaking to one another about their own worries and sending fretful looks at the Chantry.

_“Chancellor Roderick says that the Chantry wants nothing to do with us,”_ says one sister, her voice hoarse and her posture tense.  
_Us who?_ Kelaca wonders, slowing her steps a bit to listen more closely.

“That’s not Chancellor Roderick’s decision, Sister.”

Up ahead, one Chantry brother is weeping, openly distraught, and an elderly sister speaks words of sharp recourse, “Lift your head, Brother Kamlen!”

“Most of the Grand Clerics died at the Conclave,” he says, shaking his head and burying his face into his open hands. “Who will lead us now?”

“Andraste didn’t have Grand Clerics telling her what to do, and she managed nonetheless.” Her stern reply seems to rouse him a bit, he wipes his eyes, staring at her. He’s such a blatantly lost man; a small sample of what must be spreading across Thedas, faith tested and broken in the wake of a terrible disaster.

“You expect us to be like Andraste?” The brother asks her, and she straightens her shoulders.

With a curt nod, she looks him in the eyes and declares, “Someone must.” The sister glances at the three survivors making their way to the front of the building and offers a polite blessing in passing, “Maker watch over all of you.”

Kelaca just tips her head respectfully, wide-eyed and picking up her pace alongside Hissera, who shuffles Satina around just before the read the large, dark wooden doors of Haven’s Chantry. One of the soldiers standing guard opens the front door for them, his eyes blatantly locked onto the bundled elf in Hissera’s arms.  
Sati gives him a small, dazed wave in thanks, and he stiffens slightly. Before she can process his reaction, they three of them move inside to escape the many people starting to gather up around the building. 

None of the crowds are allowed within the quiet sanctuary, so the door groans shut behind the trio of otherworlders and traps them in a familiar, long room lit by candles and torches, walled with stone and rows of symmetrical columns. They aren’t alone; a few more guards stand at their posts by certain rooms, a pair of scouts play a game of dice atop a barrel in a shadowy corner, and a half-dozen Chantry sisters are around, performing their duties. A few of the holy women are praying on their knees, others comforting figures so deep in grief that none of them even look up at the arrival or approach of anyone else. The rest of the sisters read to a gaggle of sniffling children in the alcoves, who are at a guess, orphans of Conclave. 

It’s a reprieve from the uncomfortable hope-fest outside, at least.

The only noise that break above the gentle whispers and soft words in the Chantry are the shouting voices of a well-recognizable Seeker and an upsettingly familiar man, whose accents and actual words become clearer the further the trio walks into the vestry. They’re slow moving, an intentional choice, because that definitely real psychic connection they share returns and they all agree to let Cassandra and Roderick scream it out a little more. 

First they catch some of the Chancellor’s demands, sounding both baffled and furious, _“Have you gone completely mad? They should be taken to Val Royeaux immediately, to be tried by whomever becomes Divine.”_  
He no doubt heard that the elven survivor is awake now, and decided to show up (if he weren’t already waiting here) and for the dozenth time insist the prisoners all be judged and hung on the other side of the continent.

Sati mentions she likes the carpeting, it’s tasteful. Kelaca agrees. Hissera smirks when she sees one of the gambling scouts slip some cards out from his sleeves.

Cassandra, a strong-willed woman on their side and literally the best human being in all of Thedas, rejects his proposal firmly, _“I do not believe they are guilty.”_

Roderick actually returns fire, his voice louder and clearer the closer the trio gets to what must be the meeting room, _“The prisoners failed, Seeker. The Breach is still in the sky. For all you know, they intended it this way!”_

_“I do not believe that.”_

_“That is not for you to decide. Your duty is to serve the Chantry!”_

Cassandra cuts him down while the otherworlders pause outside the door, _“My duty is to serve the principles on which the Chantry was founded, Chancellor. As is yours.”_

The tallest and smallest girls share a look, and in an ‘after you’ sort of gesture is given on the former’s part, Kelaca grins, lifts her foot, and kicks the door open with an audible _bang._  
Mildly inappropriate on their part, considering the location and the situation, but damn it felt good to see the look on Roderick’s face when all three _‘prisoners’_ turn up with smug smiles on their faces. 

“Chain them!” He shouts, commanding the pair of guards (who didn’t even goddamn _flinch_ from the door smashing into the wall) to seize the otherworlders. “I want them prepared for travel to the capital for trial.”

Kelaca, emboldened with the revival of her second friend, tilts her head to an innocent angle and points at her own chest, “Wittle old me?” Roderick sneers, a mixture of incredulity and disgust in his eyes, and he physically leans away from her like she’s possessed by the Devil.

Before he can utter another word of vicious horror, Cassandra straightens up from her position around the corner of a table from the Chancellor, her fists still upon the smooth wood. “Disregard that,” she orders the guards, then nods her head, “-and leave us.” The two soldiers salute in near-perfect synchronization just before turning and marching out past the trio of prisoners. The three of them wonder if they still technically are prisoners or not, but move on from that quickly.

Seeing no immediate chair to put Sati in, Hissera sighs and looks the elf in her colourless eyes, “Hey, I’m gonna set you down. Do _not_ put weight on your broken foot.”

“My whole foot is broken?” She asks, both of them ignoring the ongoing exchange between the grumpy old man and the holy warrior. 

“Forgot to mention that, yeah.”

“Well fuck.” 

“You’ll live.”  
Attention in the small, stone-brick room turns over to Satina once her qunari friend lowers her to the floor, barefoot and gasping when she tries to get her balance right. Going off of memory from the cutscene, she knows she’s meant to say something, and gives everyone a sheepish smile, “Sorry, almost died, so I’m not at my best.”

“Yet you have survived your _ordeal._ A convenient result, insofar as you’re concerned.” Roderick responds, and the elven girl nods, distracted enough that she doesn’t feel offended by his thinly-veiled accusation.

“I do like being alive.”

The man actually looks surprised then, withdrawing half a step and appraising the entirety of her appearance. She’s wrapped in a blanket, wobbling on her feet a little, and almost naively smiling again. She must look to be either a demon in a well-crafted disguise, or a young girl that’s so hapless she truly couldn’t hurt someone if she tried. Solely because of his eventual turn of opinion and his selfless sacrifice in the game, Sati likes him, and wants him to like her too.

Cassandra comes to the defense of the weakest survivor before Hissera can kill Roderick with her gaze (or Kelaca with her hands), gesturing with one arm and narrowing her dark eyes, “Have a care, Chancellor.” Her words are biting, clearly at the limit of her patience, but her temper does not dull her reasoning. “The Breach is not the only threat we face.”

Quiet until this moment, Leliana steps in, her dulcet tones working to decrease the rising tensions in the room, “Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect.” Her own expression hardens with grief, a desire for vengeance in the cage of her heart, “Perhaps they died with the others-” She glares at the Chancellor, adding, “-or have allies who yet live.”

Roderick scoffs, turning his focus to her alone, _“I_ am a suspect?”

“You,” Leliana confirms, “-and many others.”

“But _not_ the prisoners?”

Cassandra, a woman of powerful faith, returns to the conversation with renewing convictions, “We heard the voices in the temple.” She glances at the otherworlders, all three looking back at her, “The Divine called to them for help.”

“So their survival, that _thing_ on her hand and those _‘visions’_-” Roderick waves an arm, shaking his head in disbelief, “-all a coincidence?”

The Seeker lifts her head high, standing tall when she replies with unwavering certainty, “Providence. The Maker sent the three of them to us in our darkest hour.”

Sati, once again feeling shock over the confidence Cassandra seems to have for her, asks, “Are you sure…? I’m, we’re all kind of a mess.” _How can this still be following the script?_ She wonders, _It’s convenient, but seriously, do we look at all like saviors?_

“The Maker does as he wills, it is not for me to say,” Cassandra returns, and across the short room, the dwarven templar shifts restlessly.

“Even if none of us are human?” Kelaca pipes up, crossing her arms to ground herself. “You think your god would choose us?” Religion is usually pretty particular about that shit.

Quite easily, the holy warrior shares her wisdom, “Humans are not the only people with an interest in the fate of the world.” That line, despite feeling mildly uncomfortable with all the faith and crap involved so far, lifts Kelaca’s spirits enormously. Cassandra is the decent sort with an open-mind, they can count on that.

On that note, the Orlesian bard slips back into the fold and offers the start of an ultimatum, “The Breach remains, and that mark is our only hope of closing it.” Cassandra turns around, moving to a bookshelf against the wall as Leliana leads the room and holds all attention.

“That is not for you to decide,” Roderick warns her, clearly appalled by what she’s suggesting.

A massive fuck-off book drops on the table, thicker than a whole _brick_ and obviously well-worn. Notes stick out the pages, the spine is cracked, it smells (not unpleasantly, just like a _book_), and they really can’t overstate how big it is. Kelaca is too short to see the emblem painted on the cover, but both Hissera and Satina see it easily; a sharp eye sitting at the crest of a blade and hilt, atop a curling sun; or rather, _a hairy eyeball on a sword._

“You know what this is, Chancellor?” Cassandra just slammed the book down, but she only gestures to it once before she crosses around the room to be in arms-reach of Roderick. “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act.”  
All of the otherworlders get chills, Hissera smirking already, Satina wide-eyed, and Kelaca nearly shaking with anticipation. They each resist a cheer when the holy warrior starts to roughly poke at Roderick’s chest, punctuating her sentences and sending the man back several steps until he’s almost trapped against the wall.  
“We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order with or _without_ your approval.” 

The dwarven girl sticks out her tongue when Roderick slips past, practically fleeing the scene.

Leliana clasps her hands behind her back, apparently pleased that he’s left, and faces the trio with less hostility than any other moment before, “This is the Divine’s directive: _Rebuild the Inquisition of old._ Find those who will stand against the chaos.” Her eyes rest upon the huge tome, and she lets out a sigh as Cassandra returns to her former place at the table. Addressing the other woman of faith, Leliana shares the source of her hesitation, “We aren’t ready. We have no leader, no numbers, and _now_, no Chantry support.”

In an effort to dispel the redhead’s concerns, the Seeker argues, “But we have no choice, we must act now.” Cassandra then looks at each of the otherworlders, leaning on her fists once more, “With all of you at our side.”

_“Oh hell yeah!”_ Kelaca’s already on board, fairly certain this was _their plan_, and she’s so hyped from Cassandra’s brutal dismissal of Rude-prick that she’s ready to take the Breach on all over again.

Sati nearly tips over when she nods vigorously, “I want to help- I mean, I know I have to, but I want to.”

Last but not least, Hissera shifts her weight to one leg, jutting out her hip and pointing to her elven friend, “What she said; I like being alive.”

Both Hands of the late Divine show a measure of relief, tension visibly leaving Leliana’s shoulders, and Cassandra actually _smiles_, though she looks about as soft as dragon when her lips curve up. “Help us fix this, before it’s too late,” the warrior requests, and one by one, they shake hands with her and find out that even her default grip is like iron. 

_ **Cassandra Totally Approves** _

It took a while to wrap up after that; the clueless otherworlder asking a lot of questions (_What does an Inquisition actually do? Are you guys still powerful Chantry figures?_), the marked one faking a few more magical visions (_Mhm... I saw some ravens flying to some castles. Oh, you say they’re Redcliffe and Therinfal Redoubt? I had no idea!_), and the responsible one asking about armor and necessities (_When can I have a weapon? I’d like a weapon, maybe a hair-dagger too._) until a whole hour went by. 

No montage of the Inquisition’s birth flashed through the air, so reality once again gave them all the finger and extended their timeline. They’ll probably stop expecting that story-telling convenience one day.

They only leave once Sati starts to complain about hunger, and the others both realize they didn’t eat anything before coming over to the Chantry. So Hissera carries the elf back outside, through Haven, and thankfully no one gets in their way this time around. All of them are absolutely still the focus on anyone they pass by, but with a personal mission of ‘getting some goddamn food’ they all brave it better than before. Until they reach the tavern, that is.

Their ‘usual’ table, the one Hissera and Kelaca had made it routine to claim, is already taken, and only one of the long bench ones is left with enough space for the three of them to sit together. Two people are already sitting on one end, and Flissa, bless her, is the only person in the entire building that doesn’t bat an eye when the disaster-squad makes their way through the crowded hall and sit down. The three girls settle side by side for once, facing away from the fireplace with Sati sandwiched in the middle and leaning on them like a weird, fantasy-version of _The Last Supper._

“Could be worse,” Hissera drones, blatantly ignoring the rest of the room.

“I feel like garbage,” Sati confesses in reply, having felt her energy slowly sap away the longer she’s been awake.

Kelaca flags down Flissa, and as the woman approaches, she gives her friend a sympathetic smile, “Guess you’re not totally recovered then.”

“Gee,” the elf mumbles, summoning a smile for the tavern-keeper, “Ya think?”

“What will it be for you three?” Flissa asks, her airy voice pleasant and soothing. She’s not so wary of them anymore, not even now that things are snow-balling. It comes with the territory of managing a tavern that she hears every rumour in the whole damn mill, and seeing the girls still walking free, she assures herself that they’re truly innocent of what happened at the Conclave. 

Hissera gives her order first, and fluffs Sati’s hair when she says, “Just broth for her, if you can.” The woman nods, committing it all to memory and smoothing down her apron when Kelaca politely waits her turn and requests a double-portion for her breakfast. Even as a little dwarf now, her appetite hasn’t changed, she eats like a viking. Flissa walks off and the resident minstrel has the tact to play something and fill the silence.

Satina frowns after she adjusts her blanket, one of her brows quirking up, “Uh, ‘Era. Did you put me in the shitty Quizzy pjs?” She’s wearing a familiar,long-sleeved, ugly beige hide shirt, complete with weird brass buttons and clasps. She finds every strap under the sun around the leggings, and some more sparse buttons. Those don’t look so bad, but the top is really weird.

“Damn right I did.”

“Fuuck you.” Thinking about it, she shudders, and soon relents, “…But thank you for being the one to do it.” If a stranger had dressed her in her sleep, she’d _never_ feel the same. 

“You’re welcome. Don’t go into a coma again.”

Feeling cheeky even when the ceiling looks fuzzy, Sati chirps, _“No promises.”_

The barwoman returns with a shake of her head, smiling lightly when she sets their flagons down, departing with an innocent, “Good to see you back up and ‘round.” Flissa’s watched the other two mope around for days now, and nothing comforts her more than seeing her patrons, no matter who they may be, cheering up.

Her casual acceptance of the ex-prisoners seems to raise the atmosphere from _stilted_ to _lukewarm_, but still, nobody talks above a whisper. Several stare or shuffle in their seats to get a look at the girls who took on the Breach and survived, so curious they forget their fucking manners. 

Needless to say, the three of them are unsettled again. 

Kelaca blushes under the weight of all their gazes, shy beneath all her fire and strength. With the fire so close and her embarrassment rising, she quickly gets warm enough that she decides to pull off her coat to place it on the bench beside her. Beside her, Sati audibly whimpers, poking at the grain of the table and doing her utmost to pretend there aren’t dozens of eyes on her. She fixes her eyes on her bravest companion, Hissera, who idly checks for dirt under her nails, finding none. The badass she is, he’s almost unfazed by the mass of attention, maintaining her dismissive action just to let her ignore the judging stares more easily. Each one of them would welcome a distraction, if to make their stay a little less awkward, and after another minute of unease _oh does the universe finally have some mercy_ on their asses.

One of the doors to the back of the tavern opens, and a dog suddenly barks. Quick as a rabbit, the shape of a mabari sprints around the room, going up to their table and shoving its face right in the dwarven templar’s back.

“Gah!” At first, Kelaca shoves it away, but then a familiar man comes running after the great big hound, his whole face a hot red.

“Beggar not _again!”_

Immediately, the snowy-haired girl starts to laugh, boisterous and happily turning in her seat to rub her old canine-acquaintance on his scruffy head. “Maker’s balls,” she says, taking this moment to forget the rest of the room, “I’m so glad to see you again, Jim.”

The young man stops at the sight of his loyal dog cozying up to three familiar, pretty girls. His eyes widen into full saucers, and with his hands already raised, he smiles nervously and pleads his innocence, “Would you believe I _didn’t_ send him, this time?”

_“No,”_ they all say together, and Hissera snickers, watching her shortest friend give Beggar some wonderful head scritches.

Jim laughs, shaking his head in disbelief, “Traitorous hound, getting me in trouble again.” He moves around the edge of the table and takes a seat across from them, sitting sideways and giving each survivor a good look. They’re all a little haggard at best, so his brows knit with concern. “Now be honest,” he runs a hand over the stubble on his jaw when he speaks, sincere interest in his voice, “-how are you three handling all _this_?” He doesn’t need to be specific right now, it’s immediately obvious what he’s referring to.

Kelaca groans, continuing to look Beggar in his big, dark eyes, “As we go, really. I thought it was bad before, but everyone and their _baby_ is paying attention to us now!” The mabari lolls his tongue, whining sympathetically to her. Her heart thumps- _I’d kill a man for this dog._

“At least nobody here’s a demon,” trying to sympathize, he musters an awkward smile, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, an elbow stuck to the tabletop. The dwarf just snorts, occupying herself with the wonderful therapy a dog can offer. His startling green eyes move to the gorgeous qunari woman, and he swallows with some measure of trepidation, “And you, miss Kata?” 

Withholding a smirk, the mage leans on her arms, her long legs tucked under the bench beneath her, “Could be worse.”

“Could be raining,” Jim supplies, swiftly nodding in agreement. He’s clearly still very intimidated by her, and she finds that both incredibly amusing and a little satisfying. “I sleep in a tent outside the walls, that’d ruin my day.”

Sati looks away from Kelaca and Beggar, her silver eyes bright, “Are all those mages and templars still out there?” Jim looks kinda fuzzy around the edges, but she blinks and it’s better.

“Loads of them,” he says, turning in to sit properly. “It’s weird, I thought most would have left, but once word spread that you three are mages an’ a templar, a lot of them relaxed.” 

_Just like now_, the elven girl notes, stealing a peak around the room and seeing a significant change in the general mood. Jim’s easy approach, being human and (mostly) comfortable with them, has already lessened the uncertainty in the tavern, and probably raised their reputation a bit with the residents of Haven.  
Hearing that _most_ of those people outside are still here, of those two hundred or so tents worth, is shocking though. _Could being such a mixed group really have such an impact on the mages and templars seeking peace?_

“Huh,” is all Sati adds, and the corner of her lips curve up, “Nice to see you’re still around, Defforth.”

“Didn’t think I would be,” Jim plucks at the thick, woolen shawl around his shoulders, old-looking copper buttons stuck in the weave going down his left arm. A broken look crosses his face, and he stares between them, at the crackling fire. “My cousin was a cleric,” he shares the news quietly, and even Kelaca lifts her head to pay attention. They all see new shadows under his eyes, fixating on _‘was’_ and how subdued he suddenly is. “She was up there, and I don’t think I can go home ‘til I know why it happened. If that Seeker and the Sister Nightingale are going to get the answers, I want to be around to hear them.”

_Well, shit._

Beggar whines once more, circling the table and dropping his head and a heavy paw on the bench beside his master, who musters up a terribly sad smile and pets the dog behind the ears. He doesn’t expect any of them to say anything, and they’re grateful, because there’s never the right words.  
Breakfast goes by in a rush of airing out their woes, the four of them (_five_, counting Beggar) exchanging stories and trying to be a healthy distraction for the others. 

Shit sucks, and everyone knows that, but it sucks a little less together.

Once the elf gets something in her stomach, a yawn breaks her train of thought, and she asks, “What was I saying…?”

Jim chuckles, “Not really sure, I thought you were telling me about the demons at the temple. Then you said something about ‘freaky rifts.’”

“Yeahh,” Sati mumbles, “They’re weird as shit.”

“And you can actually close them?”

“With this thing, yeah.” She wiggles her left hand, and to his credit, only Jim’s face flinches at the sight of a glowing green scar.

Deciding to play it safe, Hissera nudges her friend as a warning, who responds by leaning on her arm, “Hey, you should probably get some more rest, Sati.”

“Proba-” The shapeshifter yawns again, and Hissera rolls her eyes, _“-blyy.”_

“Definitely,” Kelaca corrects her, fiddling with her wooden spoon, a habit she’s not sure is _new_ or old. _Ugh, weird compulsion crap._

Hisser sighs, “Alright, time to go.” After leaving her seat, she curls her arms beneath Sati’s knees and around her back, hoisting the slender girl up from their bench with ease. She spares a nod to their human acquaintance, “Well Jim, see you around.”

He nods, giving them a wave with one hand and scratching Beggar’s head with the other. “Safe travels,” Jim cautions with a kind, lopsided smile. Tension in all of them has lifted from their encounter, and now that they’ve met here, it’s possible they’ll bump into each other again.

The otherworlders take their leave, returning Flissa’s light farewell and gladdened by it. It’s more proof that they’ve got a foothold of approval in Haven, and that’s more significant that it seems at a glance. If they don’t take measures to acknowledge people in Thedas as _people_ (and not just programmed NPCs or background characters, which they’re not anymore) they _know_ won’t fair well in the long run.  
Unfortunately, making friends with people means socializing, which is exhausting, because the squad isn’t from here and can’t tell the full truth about anything or they’ll screw everything up. 

They go out of their way to dodge anyone dressed like a scout on their way to their cabin, _just in case_ one is looking for them. Probably lowest on each of their lists of ‘what sounds fun right now?’ is being summoned for another meeting, and thankfully, they’re not.

Kelaca may have enjoyed learning a lot about the sprouting Inquisition, but she’s the first to bemoan the absence of a lock on their door once they all settle back inside. “Did pilgrims never steal from each other or something?” She whines, petulantly knocking the toe of her boot into the hard spruce wood. “Someone could walk in on us changing!” 

“In theory, they’ll _knock.”_ Hissera sighs, laying their half-asleep elf into her bed.

“Meera doesn’t knock. Cassandra doesn’t knock.”

“Meera’s fine and takes care of things for us, Cassanrdra is _Cassandra._ No one in their right mind would barge into a cabin with three women, especially not three _highly dangerous_ women.”

With a tired murmur, Sati includes herself one last time as a blanket of exhaustion settles over her mind, “We don’t bite… Oh, no, we do…” Before she drifts off completely, she hears her friends giggle and start to talk about something else she doesn’t even try to catch.

It’s incredibly strange when she opens her eyes and what looms above her head is not the wooden ceiling of their cabin cast in the amber glow of torchlight, but the branches of fir trees and a bright blue sky. Quickly, she rolls over, her hands pressing into piles of snow and her skin still the new dark-olive tone. The snow _feels_ cold. The air smells crisp and fresh. There’s the faint chatter of birds and the quiet whistle of a breeze on the wind. 

It can’t be a dream-  
_“But it has to be,”_ she whispers, pushing herself up to her knees and looking down to see her old clothes. The faded black tunic, the white woolen leggings, her boots, and her worn brown cloak. Turning her gaze around, she recognizes the small clearing she’s in, the very place she first awoke in Thedas. This time however, it’s utterly absent of the prone shapes of her friends. 

Satina stands, her body unhurt and her energy… strangely limitless. She’s hardly invigorated, but nothing seems to have the feeling of _effort_ to it. Before the tendrils of panic can wrap around her heart, she takes a deep breath and clenches her hands. No dream has ever been so vivid _and_ so lucid. She’s had crazy, deep dreams all her life, but she’s so _aware_ right now!

She realizes what’s going on after a pause that’s much, much longer than she’s proud of.

_“I’m in the fade!”_ She squeaks, more certain of it when she looks at her left hand and sees the Anchor is there. It was supposed to be so entwined with the ‘Herald’ that nothing could remove it, so maybe dreams couldn’t, either? She didn’t dream at all before now, probably because she didn’t even have the energy for it, or her condition didn’t permit it. Hissera said she had _mana sickness_, it could be that you need mana to mentally traverse the fade- her train of thought comes screeching to a halt when she stares at her palm, confusion overpowering the satisfaction of her revelation.  
The tattoos on her body look like scar tissue, the scarlet ink completely gone. Like this, the pattern stands out more on her darker skin, now pale whitish-lines rather than dark red, and she hates to admit it looks _better_ this way. Still, it’s not how she designed it!

Her head swivels around the clearing once more, looking for something to see her reflection with- _I need a mirror_, she thinks, and there’s the strangest, sharpest warbling sound behind her. 

Sati swallows, turning herself slowly, and towering over her is the unmistakable shape of an _eluvian_. Shiny, towering over her in an elaborate golden frame, presenting the most flawless mirror she’s ever seen. Not a single imperfection, smear, or smudge. It gives off light, the glass itself (but it couldn’t be _glass_) glowing faintly and illuminating her figure just right.

“Cool.” 

It’s a muted reaction, her wonder beginning to build up internally, but she shelves it so she can focus on her appearance. There’s a slender face with soft cheeks and the lines of her tailored markings, utterly smattered by freckles. Messy, uneven black hair that fluffs out the way she adores it, looking much more a dark brown than pure black in the soft light. Pointy ears, those too decorated by little freckles, and they twitch when a bird chirps in the distance. (Idly, she wonders if there’s even a bird or if she’s just _expecting_ for there to be sounds, but really, that doesn’t matter.)  
She drops her cloak at her feet, seeing that she’s still thin, her hips still wide, and her breasts still a modest, squishy size. Sati’s body has absolutely changed, but a lot of the shapes are still the same, or at least familiar enough that she isn’t bothered by them. Part of her is tempted to look at all the lines of her tattoos- scars, now, but even if it’s _the fade_ and not the ‘waking world’ or whatever, there’s no way she’s going to strip down in the woods. Her eyes freak her out just a bit though, _silver_ apparently very close to looking like she’s blind. Trying to reconcile that in her mind, she decides there’s enough clarity in the shades of grey and her pupils are defined, so they grow on her after a minute or two. 

_“‘Tis what you imagined, then?”_

Sati yelps, jumping up and nearly slipping in the snow to look for the source of that gravelly, alarmingly familiar voice. Standing not three yards away, an amused Mythal stands with her arms crossed, still adorned by her bracelets of gold and beaded leather strands. Her indigo shawl drapes off one shoulder over a white dress shirt, her black pants trailing down to her ankles. Grass and flowers slowly sprout from beneath her bare feet, hypnotic and honestly, hella magical. Her pure white hair is in the same dreads she wore in Zander’s house, and her undeniably _piercing_ gold eyes are emphasized by impeccable eyeliner.  
She looks human, but no human looks like _her._

Forgetting what the older woman said, the elf stutters, “Wha- What?”

Not the Mythal Sati knows from the games, but rather _Myth_, the dungeon master she had sat across from, chuckles, walking forwards, and damn right the snow melts around her steps and the plants keep growing like she’s right out of a _Studio Ghibli_ movie. “Easily distracted, aren’t you?” She doesn’t really sound like she’s asking, but Sati nods affirmative, anyway. “Well,” her lips curl upwards, almost smugly, “‘Tis proof then you remain at your core, who you are meant to be.”

“…Huh?” Sati freezes, reminiscent of a deer in caught in the headlights, “You mean you’re not making us think or do things?”

“Do I put the words in your mouth, you ask,” Myth begins, halting only three feet from the mortal girl, “-when you walk amongst the people of this world?” Her brows lift, faint mirth taking over her sharp features, high cheekbones making her look elegant and proud. “There has been no interference beyond that which will expose you to my old friend far too early.”

“None?”

The enigmatic woman doesn’t hesitate, “'Twas not I who sent you to Haven. You awoke to the Divine’s cries of your own accord, child, just as you shared your knowledge of this place.”

Satina swallows again, her throat feeling dry, and she asks, “Am I in trouble for that bit…?”

Once more, Myth smirks, her eyes glinting with ancient humor, “I would never deny a creature their free will.” That’s… _good._ She raises one hand, giving the elf an expectant look, “May I see the Anchor? I am most curious, you understand.” Half-terrified, half-bursting with excitement (because how often does someone have an old goddess’ interest in a way that could at all be perceived as good), Sati gives her hand over into Myth’s long, slightly wrinkled ones. 

A few moments, or maybe hours pass, time so strange and fluid when she’s hyper aware of her consciousness being in another plane of existence, until the older woman presses her thumb flat against the glowing scar, her gold eyes turn pure white in a flash, and there’s a _pulse_ that makes Sati yelp in shock again.

“What- what did you do?” She asks, trembling as the world suddenly starts to blur and swim, her mind positively _buzzing_ all of sudden. The surrounding environment beginning to crumble at the edges; the ground shakes apart, the trees falling to pieces, no birdsong anymore. 

Satina drops to her knees, her hand still in Myth’s grasp, and the goddess’ voice echoes out, “‘Tis for your sake, you see. The tide is changing, but the rocks are not weathered yet by the waves of your and your friends.” Her other wizened hand wipes away the young girl’s tears, and she smiles, that unsettling, unreadable smile. “This scar on your soul will flare when you See what shall pass, as you declared.”

“I don’t _understand_…” It’s a pathetic response from the helpless mortal. The clearing breaks up, the unnatural destruction circling in towards them, and Sati whimpers, partly in fear. Something was done to her, something different, something stuck to her soul and tied with the Anchor- _something!_

Last she sees is Myth’s face before blinding light overtakes the dismantling dream, and the last of the ancient woman’s words burn into the otherworlder’s mind.

_"A final warning then before you wake, child. Never have my boons come without equal suffering."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's more than an hour late- BUT THIS TURNED INTO A MONSTER OF A CHAPTER.   
I will never do this to all of you again; only in post did I understand that Enigma was pointing my lack of hand-waving any scenes that I could have glossed over, oof. I hope it wasn't a drag to read, the next one will be a lot less word-heavy, but still good, I hope!  
See you all in two weeks!  
-Pebble


	12. 'Neath the Winter Sun (cloudy, with a chance of idiots)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 Kudos!!!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you all so much, this is awesome!
> 
> On another note, this chapter is more than a whole day late and it's entirely my fault (well, a bit of college too) but I hope it's worth the extra wait!

A qunari mage, a dwarven templar, and an elven shapeshifter sit together upon a single bed, not for the first time, in a quaint little pilgrim’s cabin tucked away in the northwestern corner of Haven. The largest and smallest girls are circled around the middle-sized one, each of them quiet for a moment and taking time to process the tall-tale they’ve just heard. 

Eventually, after uncrossing her bronze arms and poking Satina in the temple, Hissera sighs, “Alright, run through this one more time.” 

The bedraggled girl shifts, beginning, “So I fell asleep…”

“You definitely did.”

“And I was in that clearing we woke up in, but I still had the Mark,” she waves her left hand around for emphasis, flailing unimpressively.

“Impossible,” Hissera comments, then smirks teasingly, “-but go on.”

“Hmph,” Sati pouts and crosses her arms to hold herself, unsure if her friend is just pulling her leg or actually doesn’t believe her. Unbeknownst to her, but to the amusement of both her companions, her pointed ears droop the slightest bit. “I figured I was in the fade or whatever. Then I wanted a mirror to look at myself, and suddenly one popped up outta _nowhere_.” 

Despite the cuteness of the Satina’s behavior, Hissera groans and impatiently presses the elf for more, “Dammit, by _Fen’Harel’s knotted fucking coat_, get to the important bit!”

“But _‘Eraaaa_, I think it’s all important!”

_“Equally?”_ The look on the qunari woman’s face makes Sati reconsider. Quickly.

“Okay, uh, so then Mythal showed up-” She swallows and sits herself up a little straighter, nearly dislodging the dwarf who’s nestled beside her. “Well, not _Mythal_ with the swooping hair and elvhen clothes, but our Dungeon Master!”

Having learned a great deal about the old goddess only yesterday, Kelaca pales and looks over to her most knowledgeable friend, “Uh, is that bad?”

“Most likely,” Hissera admits, frowning and taking just a moment to think about just how screwed they all might be.

Upon first waking up, Sati explained that ‘Myth’ had done something to the Mark and gave her an ominous, confusing warning. Visual inspection showed absolutely nothing hinky, and pressing on the glowing green scar didn’t do anything except hurt her slightly. Without a physical clue to go off of, their only indication of the nature of (strongly suspected) magical tampering would be in Myth’s freaky Shakespearean messages.

Which means that _unless_ the idiot who made a deal with a tricky old goddess isolates the actually meaningful details of everything the scary-ass woman said, they’ll have to handle Satina like a _jack-in-the-box time bomb_ that could do anything at any time.

While admittedly raising the stakes of personal entertainment a bit, Hissera decides that the prospect of _Pop-Goes-The-Sati_ sounds pretty unpleasant and exhausting to worry about. She waves her own hand to dismiss her thoughts, prompting the elf, “Word for word, what did she say she did to you?” 

When the dork’s face squishes up, trying to reflect, Hissera narrows her eyes, trusting her friend to over or underthink her words. _“Exactly what ‘gift,'”_ she grabs the slighter girl by her upper arms, “-did _She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_ give you, bitch?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Sati stares off into space, and it’s like the other two can see her brain-waves flatline. “Something about… us making changes, and the Mark is gonna spark when I see things?” There’s a blip in the line, and she perks up, _“Oh_, and she said she’s only fucked with our vocabulary, she’s not mind-controlling us to do stuff.”

Aptly put.

“That doesn’t sound word for word, Sati.”

“Please don’t hurt me, ‘Era… I’m still injured.”

Three hours and a pinching bruise later, Solas arrived, with no forewarning, to remedy that fact and the ‘Herald’s’ other injuries. The unexpected visit passed without incident, but just barely. 

His staff in one hand and a few scrolls held delicately in his grasp, Solas explained that he came around on the Seeker’s orders to finally heal Satina and ensure that her return to consciousness did not affect the Mark. 

_Ah, shit._

As he looked over the scrappy elf and magically tended to her wounds, Hissera had to hold Kelaca back by the scruff of her tunic. The dwarven templar was a firecracker ready to take him _down_, because just _seeing_ Solas in person again instantly made her forget her qunari friend’s warning to ‘be nice’ to the ancient, stuffy apostate. He bugged her so much!

Either Solas didn’t notice while he worked, or wisely chose not to address Kelaca’s struggling.

The healing session was completed after about ten minutes, during which the patient spaced out and stared at the ceiling- it wasn’t until he inspected the Mark that Sati blinked back into awareness.

“It does appear to be stable, there is no change,” though Solas said that, up close, the shapeshifter thought she saw his forehead crease a bit. He pulled away before she could be certain, and she quickly expressed enthusiastic gratitude for repairing all her injuries. 

Though light-headed and tired once more, Sati wondered about the extent of damage she sustained. As she absently fiddled with the remnants of her bandages she looked at Solas while he grabbed his things and asked him plainly, “Should I have died?” He hesitated for a moment, but stared her in the eyes and gave her the truth. 

“…From the degree of energy and mana sapped from your body, I am surprised you survived. Pleasantly so,” he added, “-for the Breach yet remains.”

“Mana?” She questioned that point, having expected it to be normal exertion or the mere shock of using unstable magic that knocked her clean out for three days.

Solas’ brow furrowed and obvious judgement nearly took over the polite consideration on his angular features, “Your natural supply was almost entirely exhausted.” His answer was quick, as though it ought to be common sense why she nearly perished. 

“Is that so…?” Sati couldn’t hide the naivety from her voice. She didn’t know fuck-all about how mana worked.

“Only a single thread kept you tethered to life.” He elaborated, and the younger elf had to suppress a laugh at how off-put the older one looked. His face was so twisted it was like he bit into a whole-ass lemon. Without missing a beat, Solas enquired back, “Are you not aware of the effects of overreaching your magical limits? The risks?” 

Hilariously, while he spoke, Sati started to drift off into sleep. She was just able to mumble a simple ‘no’ before she was sucked back into unconsciousness. Though she missed his expression of shock, Hissera didn’t, and the giantess logged it in her mind from across the cabin.

_Great_, she thought, _now he’s going to think we’re idiots._

Sati was still so weak that she needed to recover from _healing_; at first that worried the somewhat responsible pair of otherworlders, but once the egg-headed healer insisted it was expected, it made them both snicker. Solas slipped out, and after eating dinner, Hissera and Kelaca went to bed, exhausted from such a busy day. The two are immensely glad that their third friend finally broke from her coma, but expect that things won’t be slowing down now that the plot has really kicked off.

The next day has a simpler beginning, no pomp and circumstance to the Herald’s awakening, but there’s a special brand of idiocy that gives it a great start.

First thing in the morning, the elven servant walked in on her charge as she tried to toss the Quizzy pjs into the fireplace, but the Herald failed, stopping the second she realized she was caught. Thankfully, Meera brought along new clothing for everyone, Sati included, in the form of heavy sweaters and some old tunics- but the beige leather pants had to stay.

_“I blame you, ‘Era.”_

_“You should.”_

The two elves set off before long, Meera in the lead, and unsurprisingly, they have to endure the many persisting stares of faithful and curious people as they make their way through part of Haven and straight to Adan’s apothecary. In the meanwhile, Hissera and Kelaca go off for breakfast in the tavern and remain relatively unbothered, grateful that they aren’t totally stuck with babysitting their unlucky friend and taking her to every checkup. 

Just as grumpy and abrasive as his character, the alchemist instantly, and without doing _anything_ special, earned himself a place on Sati’s ‘I want you to like me’ list, because she just really, really does. Starry and silver-eyed, looking better than she had when she was in a coma, Adan doesn’t completely dismiss her after the examination ends and offhandedly mentions Master Taigen amidst comments of his annoying burdens of playing healer. Sati perks up then, a little pouty after downing a potion of… something the consistency of water and a sad, pale green. Medicine, probably, since Adan gave it to her.  
Medicine that tastes like _plant._

“I’ll look for them!” The shapeshifter promises once she clears her throat, an empty bottle in her darker hands. She knows exactly where the dead man’s notes are, and damn right she’ll exploit that to endear herself to this cranky alchemist.

Skeptically, he almost shakes his head, leaning back and appraising her rather rumpled and tiny frame, “They might have been with him when he died. I mourn that loss, but I accept it.”

Sati frowns, perking up once she proposes, “Let me try, anyway?”

Adan sighs deeply, waving his hand to dismiss her, but he concedes, “Just don’t push yourself, you’re healing, still.”

“Okay!” She chirps, slipping out of his cabin with Meera by her side. Unlike her friends, she doesn’t know her way around the hamlet yet. One of those unexpected downsides of being out cold while they got to explore.

The walk isn’t boring though, or normal. On the way to meet up with Hissera and Kelaca, the Mark starts to behave oddly. Which for what it _is_ and _does_, is really saying a lot. 

Her scar flares, slowly and only a little at first, but almost pulsing until there’s a painful _crackle_ mid-stride and her knees buckle. She feels Meera catch her and the discomfort of pressure on her tattooed body, but then everything in front of her disappears from view. It’s all replaced by an aggressive flash of white, and something feels like it slams into her head.  
For only an instant, she sees the _vivid_ image of a wooden shack sequestered by trees, just like the ones surrounding Haven. The pile of logs out front and the sprouts of elfroot ring familiarity with her, but it all fades too quickly for her to understand it.

Sati shakes herself, trying to clear her swimming vision, and Meera’s fearful voice in her ears helps ground her back to where she is. While taking a deep breath, she looks up at the sky and sees the Breach, stable and unbothered, still with its lazily swirling branch beneath it.  
It obviously didn’t expand, so _what the absolute fuck was that!?_

A half-dozen people witness her episode, and word spreads so quickly that by the time she reaches her friends to join them for breakfast, Hissera and Kelaca already know about it. Meera scampers off as the shapeshifter tries to explain her experience, being utterly truthful, and the qunari mage soon groans, deeply, into her arms.

_“Oh for fuck’s sake Sati,”_ keeping her voice low, she lifts her head just to glare at Sati, _“-what have I told you about taking gifts from demigods?”_

“Nothing,” the elf replies quickly. “Until now.”

Kelaca drops her face into her hands, smothering her confused, terrified laughter.

It takes time to process the idea of what the _fuck_ this means for them all; time they don’t have. 

Not too long after they eat, the three girls are personally summoned by Cassandra, and in the moment, they find her brutish and strangely well-meaning man-handling to be a big enough distraction from their fears. On the trek to the Chantry, the Seeker even addresses Sati directly, “Does it trouble you?” Apparently, she caught wind of what happened.

A bit dumbly, it takes the little mage a moment to realize what she’s been asked, and quickly stutters, “Oh! The Mark, uh-” Sati ignores Hissera’s snort from behind her, deciding to be truthful to the human warrior, “It isn’t spreading or killing me, but it still… does things that hurt.”

Cassandra nods, “We take our victories where we can,” _no kidding_, “-though I am sorry it is not easy to bear.” She acknowledges the burden it must be, and gets a smile out of her former-prisoner for it. 

“It showed me a cabin outside of Haven, I’m not sure why, but if I can, I want to check,” Sati explains, and the Seeker grunts thoughtfully.

“Perhaps tomorrow we can arrange for some men to guard you, today you will likely be too busy for such an excursion. I do not fear that you would flee, but there may be some who still blame you for the Conclave.” 

Bodyguards? _Ew._ Those notes better be worth it.

Cassandra goes on, unaware of the wandering thoughts of the elf, “What’s important is that your mark is now stable, as is the Breach. You’ve given us time, and Solas believes that a second attempt might succeed- _provided_ the mark has more power. The same level of power used to open the Breach in the first place.” She halts in place and faces the three otherworlders, emphasizing what that means, “That is not easy to come by.”

Kelaca grins, fluffing her own curly hair in an unintentionally cute gesture, “Oh, that sounds like a _great_ idea! Supercharge the weird, dangerous little mark connected to a hole in the sky.” Honestly, it sounds _awesome_, but she’s still wary of revealing her chaotic nature to the paladin-like woman.

That woman smiles wryly, sparing an almost friendly comment as they reach the same meeting room from the day before, “Hold onto that sense of humour.” 

Cassandra opens the door, and inside, Leliana awaits their arrival with two unfamiliar people on different sides of a new and vast rectangular table. What looks to be a map is stretched out in sections across the surface, and beneath it is an unusual and very worn rug. More importantly to note are those two new faces (new to Kelaca, at least); a man and a woman, both embellished by their demeanor and their attire, but in staggeringly different ways.

“May I present to you Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra introduces the man first, who stand directly across the table from the entrance. His blonde hair is combed back neatly, dark stubble on his broad cheeks and strong jaw, and he seems to be wearing an entire shaggy dog around his shoulders. Clearly a warrior too, with a huge longsword attached to his left hip (probably a right-handed man, then) and wearing well-crafted armor.

Cullen nods politely to all of them, “Such as it were, and well-met.” His voice is pleasant, vaguely British but not the fancy kind, more relaxed like Jim. His light brown eyes meet Hissera’s dark red ones then, and he greets her with noticeable interest, “I understand you’re to thank for the idea of making use of all the templars present. We might have lost a great deal more men is we hadn’t stood our ground while you went on.”

“Felt like it was common sense not to toss men at demons,” Hissera waves her hand, somewhat dismissive. She’s seen a lot of his worst moments in the first and second games and sure, his romance in the third is cute and redeeming- but also _boring._

The Commander doesn’t get a chance to reply, Cassandra already gesturing to the other new advisor in the room, a beautiful, dark-skinned woman with elaborate (toeing on the line of gaudy) gold and faded-purple clothes. “This is lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and our chief diplomat.”

With a graceful tip of her head, Josephine smiles and greets each survivor individually, starting with the qunari mage. “You’re… even taller than I’ve heard,” she admits, and the sincerity in her voice is enough to even make Hissera smile back. For that reason, and because Josie is a _treasure._

“More fun, too,” she replies, making the Antivan woman laugh softly.

Dark-ringed but lovely eyes shift to the dwarven templar, and Josephine nods again, “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Dovish.” With a dopey smile, Kelaca instantly wonders how high she can reasonably rank this woman on a waifu-scale after just one meeting. Then the ambassador moves on to Sati, who became transfixed by her beauty mark, “Andaran Atish’an.”

_Uh oh._

The Elvhish greeting doesn’t ring any bells in her head. Immediately, Satina realizes it’s because like an idiot, she thought it would be ‘funny’ to only have it as a known _written_ language for her character. Her lips quirk up nervously, “I- sorry, I don’t know what you said.” She desperately wishes she’d known she would suffer from her silly choices.

_Hindsight is twenty-twenty_, they say. 

Josephine pauses, surprise written on her face, but she recovers smoothly, delivering a swift apology, “I’m sorry, I should not have assumed your markings were Dalish. I haven’t studied them for quite some time.” The elven girl doesn’t feel offended, either because of a lingering detachment to her new identity or the fact that she knows a human ambassador wouldn’t have much use for such knowledge.

“It’s alright,” Sati assures her easily, smiling more naturally. “Most people think they are.”

With her own special brand of charm, Cassandra directs everyone again, addressing the trio of survivors as her head knocks towards a very familiar not-French lady, “And of course you know Sister Leliana.”

Kelaca almost freezes, mouth agape while staring at the scary (yet so pretty) redhead that _interrogated them_ (and not kindly) for a couple days. _Oh my god, I forgot she’s a nun._

Leliana lifts her shoulders, her head tilting to the side as she smiles demurely, “My position here involves a degree of…”

_Terror? Pain? Praying?_

“She is our Spymaster,” the Seeker finishes for her, and the bard’s smile drops away.

“Yes. Tactfully put, Cassandra,” Leliana easily carries on, though only after releasing a small sigh.

“Wow,” the dwarf pipes up, a little in awe of all those titles. 

They’re working with the big fish, apparently; unlike a lot of RPGs where a protagonist grinds their way to big missions and the spotlight, they’re already there. Sure the whole group has to build itself up, but that in itself is a cool concept- very _Saints Row._

“We’re honoured?” Kelaca doesn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but her shyness is shining through from being around a group of people _taller_ than she is.

Hissera lightly kicks her short friend with the side of her leg, making eye contact with the advisors, “Certainly. So let’s get started.”

Conversation flows on for a half hour in a pattern of Chantry, Mark, Breach, Hinterlands, Chantry, Mark, resources, Hinterlands, influence. It’s mind-numbing and takes much, _much_ longer than the cutscene lasted in the game, because reality is still wielding its middle-finger like a knife at their fucking throats.

In order to save Thedas, they need to seal the Breach.  
In order to seal the Breach, they need to power up the Mark.  
In order to power up the Mark, they need to ally with the Rebel Mages or the Templar Order.  
In order to ally with either the mages or templars, they need a better reputation.  
In order to have a better reputation, they need to gain some influence through actions and _maybe_ get the Chantry to stop calling them heathens.  
The best way to do _that_ is to start helping people.

It just so happens that the closest place to Haven in desperate need of relief is the _Hinterlands_, where rogue factions of mages gone mad with power and templars hungry for blood are just _going at it_ and ruining a lot of things for the locals. The actually sane group of free mages are stationed in Redcliffe, which while being temporarily closed off in the wake of the Conclave (because they cannot support any more refugees than they already are, so the word says), still means that anything the Inquisition could do in that region would undoubtedly get the Rebel Mages’ attention. It should go without saying that the plan is for it to be in a good way, because they really don’t need any enemies.

So it’s decided that ‘within the week’ they would set off with Cassandra and, if willing, Varric and Solas as well. More than that sounded unnecessary, and Hissera and Sati agree, secretly mourning the absence of their future companions. 

Recruitment seems _so far away_ it almost hurts.

Jumping back onto the Chantry branch of a dialogue tree, Sati’s winds up being interrogated about her ‘visions’ (which might _actually be real from now on_) and whether they’re of any use. The words divine, chosen, blessed, heretical, and magical get tossed around until eventually Hissera cuts it all off.

“What does it look like to you? She’s already linked to the Breach itself, is seeing fragments of the future really a stretch of your imagination?” She crosses her arms, bronze skin reflecting the torchlight when she shifts her weight from one foot to another. “Advertising it could put an even bigger target on her back, but I think it would work in our favour in the long run.”

Leliana already seems more than interested in that idea, nodding along, “I believe we should. It will only strengthen the rumours of her divine nature.”

“However,” Hissera suddenly lowers her voice, sweeping her gaze across all four leaders and lingering pointedly on the Commander. “You. _Can. Not._ Let _anyone_ try to make her Tranquil because of it.”

Sati takes a seat, floored and stunned by the idea, “Oh gods, that’s probably what they want, isn’t it?” A horrible brand on her head that would make her a husk without feeling at best, or a tormented prisoner in her own body at worst. Hissera’s in danger of it too, but the qunari woman’s magic is a lot more standard than hers.

None of the advisors give her a negative, but Cassandra places a hand on the elven girl’s shoulder and offers some reassurance, “No matter how they wish to see you punished for your circumstances, we will keep you safe.” 

“Oh,” with a small smile, Sati’s eyes get a little misty, but she appreciates that promise. “Thank you, Cassandra…” _Don’t cry because Cass was soft on you, don’t cry!_

“What she says is true, we will not be leaving any of you vulnerable,” Leliana inserts herself into the conversation again, swearing, “-each of you is a member of the Inquisition, and therefore immensely valuable.” That too, is oddly comforting, because the bard probably means well.

Half an hour later, and it was time to make a unified stand. Outside the Chantry, the qunari, dwarf, and elf position themselves alongside the glorious founders of the Inquisition and try to look impressive. In only minutes, Haven fills to bursting with civilians, soldiers, scouts, mages, templars, and clerics, all coming to watch history unfold in real time. 

Familiar frames of the title cutscene begin when Cullen nails a proclamation to the grand Chantry doors amidst a crowd of curious figures, and just as he pulls back, the knowing otherworlders grin and look up from a moderate distance. In a spectacular sequence, the Inquisition’s banner falls and drapes over the building’s crest, Cassandra and the advisors stand proudly beside one another as Roderick looks appalled and turns away, and at least a hundred soldiers salute while as many civilians look on with a mixture of intrigue and hope. 

Which, in every sense, is cool as hell.

After the moment’s glory fades, the seven of them return to the War Room- as it’s now being called, stuffed to the brim with bookshelves, a statue of Andraste, some chairs, and that table so big a whole fucking map of Thedas sits on it. Only torches and candles offer light, but there’s enough to actually accommodate the entire room, and the foreign girls are grateful that. Sure, compared to modern technology the lighting is kind of shoddy, but it’s not annoying enough to give them headaches, so they silently agree not to make any pointless complaints. 

They’re tested on that sentiment though, because the next _four hours_ are spent covering the ins and outs of what makes up the budding Inquisition and then more about their first plan of action. Mother Giselle’s letter hasn’t reached Leliana yet, but the spymaster reveals that she _already_ dispatched scouts to the Hinterlands yesterday to gain a foothold in the battle-torn region. She’s Zander-levels of steps ahead, it kinda freaks Kelaca out, but Hissera and Satina aren’t surprised.

They’ve all wondered how their absent party-member is faring, but with no influence to speak of yet, and absolutely no fucking clue where Myth dropped him in Thedas, the otherworlders make the sacrifice of postponing their search for their fourth friend. It’ll have to wait until after Val Royeaux at least, when they’ll have a pinch of wiggle-room and freedom with their schedule to make inquiries. 

-  
\--  
_Crossing down the Imperial Highway, a crimson-haired mage fixes the position of his glasses, a smirk on his lips when he comes to a pair of signs and a small notice board. One sign points to the right, carved with the familiar name of a keep in Ferelden, the other points left, and he recognizes that name on his own as well._

_**Redcliffe**, about ten miles East._  
_**Orzammar**, just under sixty miles North._

_The board declares the Lake a half-mile away to be _Lake Calenhad_, warns of bandits and beasts, and carries the King’s message, in Alistair’s name. Memories rush forth of a bumbling, brave Warden that asks him ‘what should we do now? It’s only us left’ and holds in tears over an old locket. One moment stands out, wherein Julia addressed a large crowd of nobles, several companions at his back, and put himself forward as his friend’s champion._

_“Well, it appears I won that fight,” the mage says, and after a moment of careful consideration, he turns onto a new stretch of road. His feet are fucking _killing_ him._  
\--  
-

By the last hour of discussion, the weight of their day starts to drag the trio of otherworlders down, and the advisors (who have yet to find a rhythm with one another and therefore interrupt each other frequently) start to sound like _Charlie Brown_ honking when they speak. 

_Blah blah crazy, angry mages and crazy, rogue templars are fighting each other… Blah blah refugees in need and Corporal Vale is in charge of aid… Blah blah is three or four days more reasonable to depart… Blah blah we need horses and money and support and to send the Herald and her friends there to fix the rifts appearing there-_

Rifts. Rifts mean demons, demons mean fighting.

Rather suddenly, the squad of accidental heroes realise that they have nowhere near the level of gear (or gear at _all_) that they’d require for a trip to the Hinterlands. The meager amounts of armor they had for the battle up the mountains had either been shredded long the way, or wrecked during their fight with the massive Pride demon. Expressing that concern to all three advisors, Cullen kindly offers directions to the forge inside Haven’s walls, and Josephine sends a runner ahead to let the blacksmiths know the three of them have priority on their weaponry requests- within reason, of course. 

Collectively, the girls thank their choice of deity for how easily that gets arranged.

Just before they leave the meeting room, Leliana mentions that anything else they need should be asked of the Quartermaster, Threnn, and are instructed to make lists before actually bothering the busy lady. _Yes ma’am, absolutely ma’am, please don’t stab us ma’am._

While the advisors remain in the Chantry to work out more details for the squad’s future expedition, Cassandra departs to take care of something more her speed and the otherworlders quickly set off in another direction. Each of them feels a bubble of excitement at the prospect of getting some actual _equipment_ for the first time, though they try to temper their expectations for early-stage quality items and the cruel time-frame of reality. 

It could be days before they actually get anything; crafting actually takes _time_ here after all, sadly no longer a press of a few buttons on an interface magically connected to a ridiculous stockpile of materials and loot.

When their small party approaches the higher, western side of the hamlet the forge was said to be settled in, they know they’ve gone the right way because they start hearing the clanging of metal on metal and the churning fires of a melting vat. Kelaca grins, fighting herself not to run ahead and look at Haven’s set up. Part of her fears the worst; a single kiln and an anvil or two, maybe a tanning rack- something disappointing like most of _Skyrim’s_ forges. 

_What if it sucks?_

“Oye! Watch those sparks, boy!” The command rings out, and all of the trio looks out for the source of such a grizzled, thick voice. In a matter of seconds, they spot a bald man presiding over the younger smiths with, what one might say, is the _largest moustache alive._

Hissera snorts upon discovering that Harrit’s facial hair is indeed as ridiculous as the game had portrayed, though she’s not surprised to see that the forge itself extends beyond those same virtual limits. It’s mostly undercover, though easily two-thirds of the area is exposed to the elements on the sides, and actually fairly impressive in size. The actual range of tools and stations looks better than she expected, but she’s never spent much time in workshops. She quickly guesses it must have been one of the first places to expand once Haven was taken over by pilgrims, after the Hero of Ferelden took out all those cultists of course. 

Her two friends follow closely behind her, Sati slinking in her fellow mage’s shadow in the hopes of going unnoticed by revenant villagers, and Kelaca distractedly looking around at the busy forge, so enchanted that she almost has to be towed by her much larger companion. Purple eyes are wide and shiny, enchanted by the furnaces, the chains, the modification stations, the schematic tables, the tool racks, the shiny blades, the _flames_-

Kelaca snaps out of her reverie when Hissera calls out to the man seemingly in charge and proceeds to introduce herself, then the skittish Herald, and finally the incorrigibly curious dwarf. Only after introductions are finished does the group attempt to explain what they need for their upcoming journey to the sweating, stern-looking blacksmith. Kelaca goes first, because she can hardly wait and her friends can _tell_.

“A new sword, aye, I can have that done in an eve,” Harrit crosses his arms, but lifts one hand up to brush at his great moustache, which honestly- all the otherworlders appreciate. He’s such a great trope for a character.  
…Person. _Living person._

Adjusting isn’t easy.

Kelaca grins, nearly bouncing on her heels, “What materials do you have on hand?”

“Iron, mostly. Some onyx, just a bit of drakestone. If you want anything better than that, you’ll have to supply it.” 

_Bummer, but fair_, Kelaca reasons. She tips her head, finding rather extensive knowledge about ores and metals filling her head. A gift from a dwarven background, perhaps?

_‘**Iron** is lighter, making common attacks a little easier to dole out regularly._  
_**Onyx** though, is stronger, so you can put more force in your swing._  
_**Drakestone** is sharper than either, and can cut through armor just a bit better.’_

All of the information echoes in her head in an older, rough man’s voice, but no face comes to her mind. It’s slightly unsettling, but she pushes away that feeling and focuses instead on what she learns from it. 

“If it’s not asking too much,” she eventually says, looking at the blacksmith with a confident smile, “-I’d like to use the drakestone. We heard about rogue templars in the Hinterlands, their armor isn’t something to scoff at.” She also just _knows_ that. Ew, compulsions.

Harrit nods down at the little dwarf, appearing just a tinge less gruff and slightly impressed by her reasoning. “You’ve got priority. One drakestone longsword, yours by late tomorrow.”

Kelaca beams at him, incredibly pleased, and steps aside to explore the rest of forge and let the mages have their turns.

“So, what can you do for staves?” Hissera’s dark red eyes are already hardened by disappointment. She doesn’t expect much at all from early-game resources, nor know a good reason why a blacksmith could craft a mage’s weapon.

The human man pauses for a moment and looks around the entire smithery, clicking his tongue after making a general sweep of the place. He sounds apologetic when he speaks, “Not much. No supply of crystals, other foci are hard to come by. You might be able to talk to the mages outside these walls, but I wouldn’t count on it. Most have no more than the clothes on their backs.” 

“Do you have _anything?”_ What she currently has isn’t much better than a fucking matchstick, so she’s craving an upgrade.

“No better than what you’ve got, I expect.”

_Fucking piss-shit_-  
“I understand,” Hissera fixes her expression cooly, showing no sign of the bitter frustration storming within her.  
-_goddamn mother-fucking Fen’Harel’s smelly nutsack._

Harrit nods, politely giving her his future considerations, “I’ll put in requests for the right things, hopefully we’ll get them someday.” It’s no lack of skill or interest in his department, then, only the damn limitations of _just starting_ the Inquisition are standing in her way. _Ugh._ “I can at least add a blade and a grip for you.”

_Oh, good._ Hissera smirks, agreeing, “That’ll be enough.” Once she finishes ironing out those details, it’s onto the last mage. 

The one who has yet to even figure out how her own staff works.

While her companions spoke with the senior blacksmith, Sati thought deeply about what she could actually make use of, but came up with little. She sighs quickly, almost embarrassed, “Daggers? Small ones, meant for throwing, if you can.” All she’s managed so far has been a couple decent hits with her single blade, her magic is confusing and- well, it goes without saying that a tiny nug isn’t the most battle-effective shape. 

“Easily.” A modest task, Harrit nods again, actually looking slightly relieved by its simplicity. 

The elven girl smiles, “Great, thank you!” 

When they’re all asked about what they’ll want for armor then, they come together to look over sketches in charcoal and gathered schematics, and well-aware of their restrictions, they make their decisions with a bit of tweaking. As a base, the two mages ask for lighter wear, armor-style for the Arcane Warrior, and mail for the Shapeshifter, and the lone warrior asks for full heavy armor, as befitting a Templar.

“Rush jobs, but they’ll get done,” Harrit promises, notes of their measurements and requests in hand. 

They sure fucking hope so, if not, they’ll be going demon-hunting in common mercenary’s armor at best.

When it’s time for their evening meal, the squad wanders into Flissa’s tavern and sigh in relief when they spot Jim Defforth and his blessed dog already seated at one table. He welcomes them over, apparently alone and easy to accept the company of their odd mix. _Treasures_, both him and his mabari.

The four (_five_, counting Beggar) share dinner and stories about their recent days, then about family. Going for believability rather than honesty, Sati claims to have none, Kelaca promises she can’t remember if she ever did, and Hissera just says ‘dead’ and leaves it at that. Sympathetic, Jim talks about his late cousin, Carrie, who was his only connection to anyone around these parts. He tells them that she was blonde but with the same green eyes as him, a sarcastic and mean-spirited girl, but only ever fair, and older than him by two winters. She was a rough and honest Chantry sister who came to the Conclave to with the mind to ‘sort out these squabbling idiots’ somehow. For a minute Jim cried into his tankard of cider, but later his spirits lifted and grinned wide enough to show teeth when he regaled them about and occasion where she _decked_ a _templar_ for picking on a young mage apprentice.

“Always tougher than me. When we were kids in Highever, she kept a pack of us in line,” he says, and Kelaca tilts her head when something surges in her mind for the second (or maybe twelfth) time that day.

She feels odd, flickering memories in her head of a boat and salty air, cobbled streets and market stalls, then the back of a wagon and the view of a great pale city in the distance. A sudden sureness takes hold of her, and she nods to herself, “Highever, that’s where we came to, from Kirkwall.” She keeps her face straight, elbows on the table as she squishes her cheeks in her calloused hands. Inside she freaks out.  
_Why did I want to say that? Why do I **think** that?_

Hissera raises a brow, side-eyeing her companion. Highever is on the coast, and reasonably could be where one landed after crossing the Waking Sea, but _how in the hell_ could Kels know that?

Unaware of the dwarf’s inner plight, Jim whistles, “Kirkwall, ey? Were any of you there for that disaster with their circle?”

Nothing strikes any of the otherworlders, no tingles of compulsions or ‘familiarity’ with it, so they all shake their heads. “No,” the elf answers him, a yawn breaking her rhythm, “After that.”

Sati’s exhaustion signals to the other that it’s fair time to retire back to their cabins, so Jim politely settles his curiosity and smiles, “Well we all wound up here, didn’t we?”

“Sure did,” Hissera agrees, then she sighs, knowing that she may have to carry her friend all the way to bed. 

Their meals already paid for, the human pushes up from the table and his mabari sits up from the floor. Jim says farewell for the day, Beggar following his lead. The squad receives more well-wishes and blessings and goodnights from the tavern’s crowds on their own way out, especially once the kind lady Flissa calls out to the three of them.

So, there’s that now.

When the day comes to a close, they all lie down in their cots awake, restless for their own reasons; Sati looking up at the ceiling, where shadows and lights from the fire flicker and dance; Kelaca face down and burying her cheeks in a pillow she snagged from her elven friend; and Hissera turned away from her companions, on her side and ignoring the annoying lightsource a few beds behind her. 

Unable to rest with so much anticipation inside them, one finally succumbs to the cliche, tiring game of _‘hey, are you awake?’_

“Yes,” the qunari groans, unmoving and keeping her eyes shut, unsure and uncaring of which of her idiot friends prompted her in the first place.

“D’you think we can survive combat against… well, people? They’re probably smarter and more skilled than frenzying demons,” Sati’s meek voice bounces around their little cabin, and Hissera sighs.

“Probably not. Well, not you anyways,” she lazily replies, smirking when she catches the elf’s indignant gasp. Across the room, the dwarf snickers into her pillow.

_“‘Era!_ You’re supposed to say yes and comfort me!”

Unbothered, Hissera rumbles, hardly making sense, “Eh. I’ve been told death is quite comforting for the dead. Anyways, we can look at making this escort mission suck less in the morning.”

“You’re more of a dick when you’re tired.”

“Uh huh.”

Oddly, despite the insults she received, Sati feels better. 

It takes her a while to fall asleep, but eventually the sounds of her friends’ snores coax her into darkness. The fade takes hold then, and she spends her time there shaping the ground, the sky, and the plants at her whim. She could worry about demons, but reasons that worrying would only attract them _more_, and just appreciates the temporary reprieve from her stressful days.

After the sun rose on a new day, they remembered their late-night talk and once they finished breakfast in their cabin, left for the Chantry. The squad went into the War Room and to the already gathered advisors to once again, address their appropriate concerns. It was quickly agreed that, as they were expected to leave for the Hinterlands on one of the coming days, it was pretty damn pertinent the three of them be evaluated on their combat-capabilities before they’re sent off and encounter the dangers of the world outside of Haven.

So two hours later, after viewing the (slightly inept) desperation most of the survivors fought with, Cullen and Leliana judged them fairly yet _brutally_. Josephine left early into the demonstrations to make note of eventually procuring tutors of some fields for them, which was a blow and a relief all at once.

The Commander and the Spymaster decided Kelaca was rusty, and couldn’t recall (_read_; didn’t actually even know) her templar abilities, so she was sent off alone with Cassandra to train until midday. However, while their dwarven friend has her butt repeatedly kicked by a brutish holy-warrior, the mages get their due with a somehow less-pleasant individual.

Once their initial observation was done, the two advisors summoned Solas to further assess the unorthodox mages. As the only trained and trustworthy (_ha!_) mage in the entire hamlet, he was most qualified to actually determine the power and skill of the (newly) magical otherworlders. 

_“Wonderful,”_ Hissera can taste her own bitterness on her tongue, because now the old wolf has an excuse to criticize her and her less confident friend.

On the order of the Inquisition’s leaders, Solas promptly drags them out of Haven’s walls and to a nearby clearing; a somewhat isolated place where magical accidents could safely happen without causing panic among the soldiers or commonfolk. Of course, he wastes no time in showing off, using magic with only a gesture to wipe the snow away in a wide, near-perfect circle. When the elvhen apostate sits down, the girls reluctantly follow suit.

“First,” Solas begins without any pretense for the situation, “-I’d like to discover how much control you both have, as such, light and hold a fire in the palm of your hand and keep it steady, if you can.” _If_, he says.

Satina’s marked hand shoots into the air as soon as he finishes speaking, gripping her knee nervously with the other. 

“Yes, Herald?” The older elf asks, and she meets his blue gaze with shiny silver eyes.

“How do you make fire?” _If_, indeed.

Pure, stunned silence reigns for a moment, though it’s swiftly interrupted when Hissera doubles over, cackling. Solas sighs, pinching his nose for a short moment, “Extend your hand. Imagine the flame just above your palm,” he becomes more patient the more he speaks, trying to explain a natural instinct for many a spellcaster, “-feel its warmth, will it to rest there, and send a thread of power to it.” He adheres to his own instructions, showing his example as a small, condensed fire rips the air and waits, utterly tame, upon his open hand.

Sati concentrates, reaching out in front of her, trying to maintain the image of fire in her mind's eye. After a few beats pass, suddenly… _nothing._ She feels nothing, no stirring of power, no tingly trace, no sensation like magic was ever described in the books she read back before ending up in Thedas.

To her left however, Hissera seems to be quite enjoying the task set before them, not only already producing her own flame, but playing with it. Different from Solas’ natural looking flame, she moves her golden fire off of her palm and lets it dance over her finger tips. An entranced grin permanently settles across her features, and her mana feels _untouched._

“It’s not working,” the darker elf whines after another fruitless attempt, unfoundedly fearing she’s totally incapable of magic. She’s done _things_, that spear her shape-shifting, why can’t she do this? “I don’t feel anything.”

Resisting a derisive roll of his eyes at tallest mage’s flashy acts, Solas turns to face the smaller one, still patient for her, “Perhaps fire is not what calls to you naturally. Shall we give ice a try instead?” His favouritism for the one bearing his Mark isn’t just for show in the game, then. He really does seem to seeking a position near enough to the Herald to have some influence on them- either to keep an eye on them and learn their motivations, or to manipulate them.

“Yes please,” Satina nods enthusiastically, appreciating his advice even knowing why he’s actually bothering to give her and Hissera the time of day. It’s fine because befriending the old elf is kind of essential, and she _really_ wants to figure out how magic works.  
This time she shuts her eyes, following Solas’ instructions by the _syllable_, and she tries to make an ice cube in her hand. Seconds pass, edging closer to a minute, and she feels the absence of any proverbial spark. 

Just before she gives up again, there’s the smallest trickle of something in her chest, and she eagerly pulls upon it. The little sensation multiplies instantly, a dam broken and the magic rushing like a waterfall. 

The already freezing temperature plummets around her, and the light behind her eyelids vanishes before she feels something cold and wet land on her nose. Gasping in excitement, Sati opens her eyes and looks around her, curious about what she’s done. _Is it snow?_

Nope.

Looming mere feet above her, and _only_ her is the darkest little cloud she’s ever seen. It lingers harmlessly for a moment, but her focus wanes, and that same magical cloud decides to unleash its power. Rain absolutely showers down onto her slight frame, soaking her to the bone in moments. 

It stops after half a minute, and not by her own will.

Solas raises his hand and dispels the cloud, his hand glowing green, and watches with poorly-veiled disappointment as Sati sneezes pitifully.

“Ice, Sati, not water,” Hissera shrugs her vest off and forces her friend to remove her wet sweater. 

“I t-t-tr-_tried_,” as the elven girl hastily changes, she tries not to feel totally miserable because at least something happened. She knows their third party doesn’t see it that way though, because that wasn’t the purpose of this evaluation- it was to be a judgement of discipline, not ability. 

A moment passes, and once she isn’t in danger of freezing to death, Sati thinks that Solas is working harder to mask (or perhaps even reconsider) his discontent with present-day elves and mages. He almost looks like he’s just tired instead of unhappy, and hope rises in her shivering form, water dripping off her dark hair.

“So that would be no control then,” the immortal mage remarks.

Ah, never mind.

While the mages fucked around and shared some disdainful glances, Kelaca had a far nicer time. She got bruises and scrapes and might’ve fucked up her hand on Cassandra’s new shield, but the dwarf _officially_ received (very reluctant) permission to call the Seeker by the nickname ‘Cass’ and that made the whole three hour assault _worth it._

Once their sparring is blessedly over and done with, the two of them go through a reasonable cool-down routine and pass the time by exchanging some small stories. Their touch-and-go bonding begins because of an innocuous question from the human warrior, and builds from there.

“Where are you from?”

_Ah shit._ Quickly recalling her instructions from Hissera, Kelaca sheepishly smiles, “I don’t remember that well. Orzammar, I think.” Before she can be asked anything else, she returns the interest with a friendly air, “How about you, Nevarra, right? What’s that like?”

“There’s… not much to know,” the Seeker replies with a slightly evasive stare, one clearly not born of bad experiences but rather _modesty._ In kind conversation, _Cass_ is turning out to be almost shy, and there aren’t words to describe how adorable that is. 

“I’m sure that’s not true, you’re awesome!”

Cassandra makes a noise of disgust in her throat, but Kelaca catches a wash of red cover the taller warrior’s cheeks. Apparently being flustered makes her brashness come out all the same, though, so she tries to get everything out in one sweep, “My name is Cassandra Pentaghast, daughter of the royal house of Nevarra, and seventy-eighth in line for the Nevarran throne. I joined the Seekers of Truth as a young woman, and was with the Order until they withdrew from the Chantry. I remained as the Divine’s Right Hand, carrying out her orders to form the Inquisition- and here we are. That’s all there is to know, my lady.”

After making a face at the title people keep pushing on her, Kelaca whistles, “That’s a lot to unpack.” She smiles before Cassandra can find any offense in that. “I don’t really know what a lot of that means, except the royalty and the Inquisition bits.”

The taller woman raises her dark brows, “So just the parts about the Seekers?”

“Uh, I guess so.”

“You strike me as strange yet again, that as a templar you do not know of the Seekers of Truth.”

Keeping her nervousness mostly to herself, the dwarven girl gestures to her own head, “I might’ve known before. I don’t even remember how I _became_ a templar now.”

Reading the slight anxiety in her former-prisoner as a byproduct of her memory-loss, Cassandra sighs and offers an apology. “Forgive me,” she says, “I have always been eager with my questions and perhaps quick to judgement.”

“Good thing you became a Seeker of _Truth_ then, it suits you,” Kelaca offers, and calls it a victory when Cass faintly smiles.

They spend more time winding down than perhaps they need to, exchanging words and tales. The short templar shares stories of small adventures with her three- not just _two_ friends, that she enjoys ‘fresh air’ on the surface, examples of her interest in science and math and machines, and finally how excited she is to see the world and make things _better_ if she can.

When prompted in return, the taller warrior tells stilted yet sincere tales of her life in Nevarra, dragons (sadly, she has little to share about the coolest creatures in the universe), the Divines she served, and even ‘reminds’ Kelaca of what the Seekers stand for. On that branching topic, Cassandra admits that she has the ability to set lyrium in a mage’s bloodstream _on fucking fire_ and seriously, that’s both equally terrifying and awesome.

If it weren’t for the need to be so faithful and being saddled with overseeing the Templars themselves, Kelaca feels like _Seeker_ might have been a more impressive specialization she could’ve picked. 

Ah well, what’s done is done.

The rest of their day was nicer.

After their training montages came to an eventual close and the squad reunited for a hearty late-lunch, Hissera took them all exploring with an armed escort of three full-suited guards, and a friendly escort of Jim and Beggar. They received permission (_read_; the bodyguards) once all three girls agreed they wanted to get away from Haven and the crowds, look for the shack in Sati’s vision, and just plain _catch their goddamn breath._

Without a specific destination in mind, they decided to wander the trails around Haven, certain that they’d find their way before evening. The most responsible of the party, Hissera instructed Sati to snap up any elfroot (and boy was there a lot of it) they came by while making a pointed statement that Kelaca should _absolutely not_ attack the big bison-looking things they found, ever. 

“Docile things, yeah, until they’re provoked,” Jim quickly agreed, glad to let his mabari roam around and get some exercise. Beggar chased a few nugs around the clearing, and even ducked beneath one of the ‘druffalo’ to pursue its target. The great beast was totally unbothered, it only snorted and continued to chew at a cluster of elfroot.

“Can you ride them?” Kelaca asked him, and after a moment of shock, he laughed.

“Only the domestic ones, usually.”

Luckily for the safety and preservation of their currently not-trampled bodies, Hissera was there to drag the rambunctious dwarf and the accident-prone elf far away from the herd of druffalo.

It didn’t take them more than an hour of wandering and exploring to find Master Taigen's hut, and once there, Sati made a beeline right for the documents Adan wanted. Their escort of soldiers made note of its location, promising to pass it on to the Nightingale and have it looked over in greater detail- so, denied the option of looting it further themselves, they all moved on. Conversation passed between the whole group, less awkward than it could have been because (and the otherworlders could not stress this enough) the soldiers were just normal people under their armor and steel.

The three soldiers mostly spoke of their hopes for the Inquisition though, so it was a _little_ awkward. Thankfully, on occasion their roguish human companion offered his thoughts to break that air, more intelligent than he looked for someone so scruffy and honest.

“Nice to see not everything is so bad, under the right tree you can’t even see the Breach…” Jim sounded like he was unsure of himself, but everything he said carried a subtle depth of thought. He was sure-footed even when they all walked off the trails a bit, apparently just as glad for the small adventure (and distraction) and content to meander. 

“Aye,” one soldier spoke, “-but still it’s there.” Alynn Tarney had to be introduced by her fellow soldiers earlier, a bit gruff in mannerisms but the picture of softness. She was slightly short, at the same level as Sati, with wavy curls of sandy-blonde hair pulled into a fierce bun, and faint wrinkles of age on her cheeks. The warrior wasn’t _trying_ to depress her charges, her sentiments shared with bravery in her voice, but like Cassandra, maybe she was slightly too blunt.

Jim nodded then, “Quite a kick in the arse to do better, huh? I mean, if this Inquisition really sets off, I s’pose that it can do good for people.” 

“Leliana, Cass,” Kelaca began to speak, kicking up snow as she walked, “-and all the people in charge think they have a responsibility to everyone around here. I don’t disagree, but damn, where do we start?” Unfortunately, the heavy talk didn’t cheer up their neurotic elf.

“…How do we do anything at this stage?” Sati listlessly added on, thinking of all the people outside the walls that they passed by, and a little stressed by the growing pressure of doing enough for everyone. “We don’t have any influence yet, and it’s winter, and they’re all in tents.” They needed clothes, and food, and shelter, and-

Hissera huffed, breaking the negative streak of chatter with a firm declaration, “They’ll be fine. There’s enough of a forest around here to construct more buildings, and that would give some people a way to help out, even if they don’t want to fight or scout or something else.” She doubted there’d really be something ready and set up waiting north of Haven like in the game, but all the same, there was potential logging stand in these parts. Even if the Inquisition _didn’t _make use of the woods, there were _other things_ that could be done and the advisors were probably getting started on that. 

Soon enough the otherworlders would head out to meet Mother Giselle, then things would really snowball. There probably wouldn’t even be time for another leisurely walk, since ‘fast-travel’ sure as fuck couldn’t be a real thing. No, they probably wouldn’t spend much time at all in Haven in the future… especially once they buried it to spite Corypheus.

With a bowed smile, Jim looked around at the thicket of trees surrounding them, seeming more optimistic, “Sounds like a plan, Miss Kata.” Beggar let out an eager bark, apparently on board as well.

Their break finally done, once they arrived back within Haven and shirked off their guards, they all split ways again. Sati, her (dry replacement) sweater turned upside down like a pouch and filled with elfroot, went along to Adan’s cabin with Jim, who offered to carry the healer’s notes for her. In the meanwhile Kelaca and Hissera went on to find the Quartermaster Threnn, informing her of the nearby resources and _not-so subtly_ suggesting a logging stand be constructed as soon as possible. Both beleaguered parties, the grumpy alchemist and the politically-incorrect resources supervisor, were enthused by the squad’s presents. 

Sati considered her successful note delivery to be the perfect first step in earning Adan’s approval, beaming like a complete dork the entire time she was visiting his workstation. She nearly jumped on her feet to accept his offer of an explanation to how Master Taigen’s nearly finished recipe could work. Even though that would have to wait until she returned from the Hinterlands, Jim left pretty speedily, admitting without shame that he wasn’t interested in hanging around while Adan invented a potion with the key ingredient of _lyrium._ Since the elven otherworlder had upgraded the hell out of all her potions, tonics, and grenades when she played the game, she couldn’t be more excited.

Learning alchemy in Thedas? _Hell-fucking-yeah._

With the other two girls, they learned that Threnn was somehow a slightly less friendly person than Adan, as the Quartermaster nothing more to say to them and even dismissed their presence after a minute. Then when the smallest and tallest pair met up with their middle-sized friend, Kelaca proposed (begged, really) to go look at the forge again, and Hissera agreed. 

Not ten minutes later, the whole squad finds themselves walking through the workstations and nosily peeking at all the smiths’ projects- Hissera having threatened both Sati and Kelaca with physical bondage if they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. Too busy abiding by that rule to pay attention to their surroundings, they all stumble into each other when suddenly they spot their favorite dwarven man seated on a bench at one station, carefully attaching a pointy, metal head to a bolt shaft. 

Recovering first, Kelaca shambles right up to Varric and studies his collection of projectiles, quickly noticing that a few here and there carry a different head than the standard, presumably to cause different effects or damage. “You make your own bolts?” She queries, and the rogue chuckles, apparently unsurprised by her arrival. He must have seen (or heard) her and her companions wandering around the forge. They draw _a lot_ of attention, she knows that, but they must not be bothering anyone because no one’s kicked them out so far.

Glancing at the shiny-eyed girl, Varric responds with some light teasing, “Yes, Magpie. I’m an _Artificer._ Let’s just say, all my life I’ve been a bit of a tricky bastard, I know a good trap can save the day.” His own curiosity emerges and he raises an eyebrow when he asks, “What about you? I’ve never met a dwarven _Templar_ before.”

Shrugging, Kelaca smiles and replies honestly, “Well I can’t do magic, so I figured ‘fuck mages’ and learned how to stop others from doing magic.” 

Hissera wraps her arms around her curly-haired friend from behind with a wicked smile, letting her breasts sit on top of Kelaca’s head. “Yes, _fuck_ mages, we’re more fun,” the qunari hums, making Varric snort.

“But Songbird and Sprout are both mages,” his retort to the warrior comes after a thought, “-and you seem to like them well enough?”

“I never said I _dislike_ mages, I just want to be able to fight them,” Kelaca says, and her slightly pouty tone ends that inquiry there.

Turning his attention to the two spellcasters, Varric pulls up a wry, charming smile, “Well then, what do you two do?” He holds up his hands, stopping them before they can start, “Wait, let me guess. Sprout, you roam the earth talking to the flowers and hugging trees, and Songbird, I think you cavort with demons in lustful orgies.” 

After Hissera chuckles at his embellishments of their characters, she playfully asks, “I mean, are they sexy demons? Because I’d bang them, no deals required.” Kelaca snickers in her embrace, and the taller woman takes that as encouragement. “Who doesn’t love a good orgy now and again?”

Sati looks up, confusion written on her freckled face, “Since when did you-”

“In all seriousness,” Hissera interrupts her quickly, focusing on Varric. “I’m an Arcane Warrior, I enjoy swinging a big sword while throwing fireballs.”

The glorious author nods, a glint in his eyes, “Not a bad combination of skills.”

“Your turn,” Hissera nudges her fellow mage, and Sati squawks, nearly tipping over. 

“Uhh,” the elf starts, getting nervous with one of her favourite characters (_people_, fuck!) looking at her. “I don’t hug trees, but I can climb them?”

“But can you deny talking to flowers, Sati?” Her tallest friend snarks, still hugging the shortest girl. “Don’t lie.”

There’s a pause, then, _“Nooooo.”_ But that was when she was a kid!

Varric laughs, and Kelaca wiggles her way out of Hissera’s arms to gently pat her embarrassed friend on the arm, cooing, “It’s okay, we love you anyway.”

After giving Kelaca a grateful smile, Satina shifts on her feet and admits to Varric, “I’m just a shapeshifter… but I’ve only figured out a nug-shape.” When Hissera nudges her again, the shorter mage blushes to the tips of her ears and mumbles, “Okay, I haven’t _figured it out_ but I can do it.”

“Well,” the red-haired dwarf begins, sounding a little worried beneath his casual air, “-I guess that counts for something.”

_Oof._

Later that day, the otherworlders are pulled into the Chantry by the firm hand of Cassandra, who only mentions the advisors and ‘we must go over our plans’ in passing in her thick, East-European accent. Did they really need to send the Seeker to kidnap them? Probably, since earlier they already played a game of hide-and-seek with one of Cullen’s runners before taking their little hike around the snowy hills. 

Despite their irresponsibility, they’re all clever enough to correctly assume Cassandra means they’ll go over their upcoming trip to the battle-laid Hinterlands, as the moment they step into the ‘War Room’ Leliana addresses her concerns.

“Solas informs us that your magic is not under your own power, Herald,” the spymaster plainly states, and the elven girl winces.

Sati lifts her hand in a dismissive gesture, “I can _do_ magic. I wasn’t taught, but I-”

“Oh?” Raising her eyebrow, Leliana stares deep into her eyes, instantly quieting the marked girl. “In that case I’d like a demonstration. Show us your vaunted control, Herald.”

Biting her lip, Satina squirms in place, starting to feel her anxiety bubble up, “L-Like what?”

Hissera snorts, “Just tell the truth Sati. You couldn’t _deliberately_ cast a spell if you tried.”

Commander Cullen steps forward, looking uneasily between the supposed shapeshifter and his fellow advisors, “Should we be worried about possession then? Perhaps we should send a few templars with you on your journey.”

“Ah. Yes.” Hissera rolls her eyes at the mere suggestion, flatly responding, “Because who doesn’t love traveling with abusive assholes.” 

That causes a bit of an uproar.

_“Abusive?”_ Kelaca exclaims, instantly worried and ready to unleash her fury on behalf of trampled souls.

“You dare imply such a thing?” Shouting, Cassandra is clearly more offended- unlike Cullen, she’s slightly in denial of the Templar Order’s wrongdoings. She views them with faith-tinted lenses, after all, and won’t start to take them off until Lord Seeker Bastard rebuffs her in Orlais.

Trying to defuse the situation, their diplomatic ambassador quickly comments, “That seems an extreme sentiment, Lady Kata. I can assure you, we would not tolerate any mistreatment on the part of a templar, whether mage or not.” As an Antivan and a graceful woman, Josephine has the tact not to deny atrocities committed by others, rather, she proposes solutions and recompense. Fucking genius, really.

“We won’t be tolerating mistreatment on anyone’s actions, period,” Leliana adds, her hands clasping behind her back. 

Pointedly not taking back her remark, Hissera breathes out through her nose and _calmly_ states her stance on the Commander’s suggestion. “I will not entrust the safety of _my friend_ to those who fear her for what she is.” She locks eyes with Cullen, crossing her arms and no sign of weakness in her, “No matter how incompetent she might seem, I have no doubts in Sati’s strength against the denizens of the fade. She’s gone her whole life without templars breathing down her neck.” A true statement, though to be completely honest none of them _had magic_ until now, and they didn’t have to worry about demons or possession either.

“You travel in the company of a templar already!” Cullen can’t stop the outburst, gesturing to the dwarven girl beside Hissera.

“Because she’s our friend,” Sati speaks gently, clearly anxious in his presence, and briefly, that douses the man’s contention.

He falters, sighing, “We are merely concerned for your safety. Your very life is essential to one day closing the Breach permanently.” That reminder brings back her stress, and the shapeshifter’s pointed ears droop slightly, now the one averting her gaze.

Frowning, Kelaca steps forward, “We’ll keep her safe. We’re taking other people with us, and we can learn more on the way.” She thinks the egghead would _love_ to share his infinite magical wisdom, and what the fuck else are they going to do during travel-time?

“Oh for fu-” Hissera resists a groan, “This situation will only get worse if we delay or travel with paranoid warriors. Even if they have the best intentions, they’d slow us down, or _increase_ the stress of any mages they’re guarding. They’re walking reminders of the worst possible things that can happen to a mage.”

Cassandra begins to concede to that, though she doesn’t look happy (more than usual, anyway), “I suppose there is that angle.”

With that fueling her stride, the tallest mage nods her head, adding firmly, “We must enforce order as soon as possible, both for the people of Thedas and the reputation of this budding Inquisition. If possible we’ll leave when the sun rises tomorrow, and you can either start preparing to supply the trip, or tell us what we need to fucking do to reassure you we can handle this mess.” Hissera almost shouts at the end of her speech, slamming her hands down on the war table and turning her head to look at each advisor in turn. 

“This… seems reasonable,” Josephine hesitates only after taking a glance at the figures beside her. She forms a lovely, polite smile for the otherworlders, promising, “I can arrange for everything to be ready by morning. As long as we are agreed?” 

Leliana glaces up from the table, looking at her fellow advisors with her dark eyes, “The fearless qunari makes a good point, and as of an hour ago, reaching the Hinterlands as soon as possible has become a more desirable prospect. A Chantry Cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has requested a chance to speak with the survivors of the Breach, especially the Herald. Her assistance could be invaluable, she is well-liked amongst her peers and is not far from Redcliffe.” 

Ah, there it was, the first reputation boost of the game- _er_, whatever.

“Wonderful, we’ll look for her as soon as we get there,” the giantess replies smoothly. Feeling a little satisfied the advisors went along with her ultimatum, Hissera doesn’t even care that they’ll have to cater to a judgy religious woman later. That’s future-Hissera’s problem. 

“With so many mages traveling to such a dangerous and battle-torn place I worry about possession,” Cullen once more tries to suggest an escort, though politely now. “Are you certain we cannot convince you to bring one of the Order with you? An extra sword would not go amiss.”

Just _barely_ biting back a harsher retort, Hissera glares and reminds him of their experience, “After the Conclave went up, we saw all that death, all that destruction, and all the anger and fear of everyone here before they knew we were innocent. We didn’t get possessed then, did we?”

“We’re braver and better than we look,” Kelaca pipes up, crossing her arms and cocking her head to one side. She nods to the mages on either side of her, smiling cockily, “Seriously, after going through that nightmare, I don’t think anything could bother these two.” _Hissera would sooner make a demon beg for mercy than let it trick her into a ‘deal’ and Sati’s not stupid either._

More assured of the mages’ safety and willpower, the matter is pushed aside for the rest of their planning, and the otherworlders eventually slip out for a well-earned dinner. Things ring out in their minds until the evening passes to night; Hissera, eager to make progress and one day reach the Storm Coast, hurries to get in bed and reach the morning; Kelaca anticipating the delivery of her first custom sword, decides to stay up until Meera arrives; and despite Satina laying down before the dwarf, she stays awake longer, repeating her many worries on loop.

In the fade, the young elven mage lays back in an empty, endless field of grass. Above her, what begins as a clear sky with a golden sun slowly shifts until it’s unrecognizable. Fluffy white clouds encroach upon the backdrop of blue, one by one, filling the corners of the sky until they gather up together and slowly darken. She watches, her hands on her stomach, feeling the rise and fall with her breathing, until the sun is blotted out completely and rain begins to trickle down.

Satina stays dry, despite a thick downpour, transfixed and unmoving even with her growing apprehension. Her thoughts gain voices with the whisper of rain to drown out her heartbeat.

_There’s too much._  
_She’s not enough._  
_It all depends upon her._  
_She can’t do anything._

_ **Why me?** _

There’s a harsh _crack_ of lightning crossing the sky, startling her into a sudden, upright position. As thunder rumbles out, echoing around her, she feels something- something new and alarming, and it sends prickles across her skin until it breaks out in goosebumps. She looks around her, frantic to locate the source, and not more than two yards behind her, she knows she finds it.

In shades of grey, shifting and dripping like the rolling clouds above, a rage demon stands in place. Though it doesn’t make a move, parts of it ooze the grass beneath it withers and dies. Bright and solidly violet eyes watch her, glowing and morphing in shape when parts of its face too, drip and melt while unfailingly reforming itself.  
It isn’t _Rage_, not quite.

Satina turns around, letting the rain finally soak her clothes and trail down her face as she calls out over the storm, “Who are you?” Perhaps a foolish idea to even acknowledge it, she can’t help herself.

The demon doesn’t move, but she hears it speak, a toneless voice in her mind, _‘Doubt.’_

Her own goes small, her body feeling heavy, “Oh. Is that, are you making me like this, or-”

_‘You.. are.. made.. of.. doubt.’_

“So you were drawn to me?”

_‘Yes.’_

“…Shit.”

For a moment she’s silent, letting the fade’s storm go on while pulling up her knees to hug them, never taking her eyes off the demon. It doesn’t attack her. It doesn’t speak first. It doesn’t do anything at all.

Eventually, Sati breaks and asks, “What do you want?”

_‘Nothing.’_

She narrows her eyes, confused, “Nothing? But why are you here?”

_‘You.. are.. made.. of.. doubt.’_

“I am, yeah,” she agrees this time. They’re in a circular loop of conversation if she’s ever heard it. The elf sighs, letting rain cover her messy hair until it’s flat on her head. 

Surprisingly, Doubt does say something unprompted, _‘Why?’_

_What the fuck?_ She lifts her head, immediately shocked by the question. Weren’t spirits and demons supposed to lack secondary traits? What a loaded fucking question, too!

“I- I guess because I don’t want to fail anyone. If I was confident though,” and she’s clearly not, hence the demon’s presence, “-then I might not think about my weaknesses, and might not...uh, better myself?” _Gods this is really awkward suddenly, what is my fucking life._

The demon goes back to being silent then, but after a while (in rather a horrifying visual) its entire front melts away and suddenly its back is facing her instead. Doubt slowly drifts away, gliding across the grass and leaving a wilted trail behind it, and the rain gradually lets up until simultaneously, both disappear altogether.

Satina spends a while staring, stunned, at where it last could be seen. The sky clears up once more, and while her self-doubt remains, it isn’t overwhelming anymore. Minutes or perhaps hours pass, and her last clear thought before she wakes understates the whole event.

_Well, I didn’t get possessed._

Early the next morning, before the dawn even breaks, the three incompetent adventurers stagger from their beds when Meera comes into their cabin with a wake-up call, delivering their armor and gear by herself- in a single trip at that. For someone so small, she’s incredibly strong. She’s also kind enough to help them all get their new, slightly complicated outfits on after she sees them haphazardly trying to manage it on their own. 

“Thank yoooou,” Kelaca’s especially grateful and shamelessly lets the elven servant know that, because her little arms aren’t quite flexible enough to get a clasp or two latches behind her. 

“Yes, thank you, Meera,” Hissera’s admittedly glad to have assistance managing her hair for the process, and only feels more badass with each layer she pulls on, the metal coverings sturdy and angular. 

“Did I get it right?” Sati’s actually fine on her own, and it takes her two friends a full five minutes to remember that she used to _LARP_ and dress up in actual armor. She grins cheekily at her surprised companions, happy for her first display of competence in a while.

Each of the otherworlders eats and packs while feeling like varying degrees of shit. Like _walking corpses_, in politer terms. Luckily, their elven supplier sticks around to share the instructions and advice that came in a note from Lady Montilyet about what would be most practical to bring along, as well as the things they’re being provided with. None of the trio quite register that information though, too tired to even react to all their shiny new stuff.

Despite ample opportunity to confide in the others during breakfast about her most recent dream, Sati decides against it. Once she finishes gearing up, she determines that the outcome wasn’t all that concerning and telling them wouldn’t make any difference; Hissera already told her she wasn’t lucidly dreaming in the fade, and Kelaca is still a _dwarf_, so neither of them can drive off any demons for her. Besides, then they might actually have to bring templars with them on their trip.

“Now you all be careful,” Meera says, nodding to herself when she deems their preparations complete, oddly not making it sound like a request. Her hazel eyes look to each of the other girls in turn until they all make her a promise.

_“We’ll be careful.”_

“And watch the roads, for bandits,” she adds, and though the replies she receives are of mixed sincerity, they make her nod once more in satisfaction.

“Will do!” Kelaca chirps before breaking into a fierce yawn, slumping against the stack of their bags and packs.

“Yes, _mom_,” Hissera rolls her eyes, she herself leaning against a wall for support but the most awake member of the group by far.

“Promise,” Sati mumbles, blatantly sitting on the edge of her bed and in danger of curling back up on it.

Meera bids them farewell without a stutter, and the three otherworlders wonder where her old timidness is going. They guess in all likelihood that either they’re influencing her, or she’s more comfortable around them. _Neat_, really.

Somehow, regardless of their readiness, they arrive _late_ to the gates of Haven, Hissera carrying Satina on her shoulder and dragging Kelaca by the back of her shirt. “We’re ready,” she remarks dryly, “However unwillingly _some of us_ left our beds.” She specifically gestures to the dwarf in her grip with a nod, because the elf knows better than to force her hand.

“I see that,” Cassandra sounds disappointed, as Hissera thinks she should. With a firm motion, the holy-warrior turns to the road, ready to move on, “Let us be off then, the sun is rising and we should reach Redcliffe by midday.”

Varric stops the parade before it can start, looking up at the bronze giantess, “So I see you grabbed the people, Songbird, but where are your packs?”

“Fuck!” Hissera exclaims, roughly dropping her companions to the ground before she sprints off in the direction on their shared cabin. She appears a few minutes later, bags in hand and only slightly embarrassed.

“Does this happen often?” Solas inquires of her, perhaps intending to find reason to judge her again, or only curious.

Unfazed, the sole qunari nods and makes sure her friends carry their share of equipment, speaking plainly, “I always forget something, let’s just be glad it wasn’t Sati.” 

The group of six begins to trudge out of Haven, and the elven apostate’s brow raise, “Indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're off to the Hinterlands, Kelaca's making friends, Hissera's taking charge, Julia is being Julia, and Sati's not possessed!  
Tune in on the 29th to see how they cope with [drumroll] travel time! …And the Hinterlands! I swear on my life they'll be at the Crossroads by then!
> 
> Enigma wrote the first draft of a lot of this chapter, so if it seems especially sassy in places, that's why. I would be drowning in this fic if it weren't for her.  
-Pebble


	13. Finding a Crossdroads (ow my FEET)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pebble] Heyyyyy everyone! Did I say this would come out on the 29th? I meant the 17th... of April. It's a Wednesday somewhere, right? ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿  
I got sick a couple times and got overwhelmed keeping up with college and work, but I never wanted to drop this fic! It's my baby, my neglected baby.  
I hope you enjoy the chapter, the next one won't be so hard- probably?
> 
> [Enigma] By which she means that I've been whipping her for the past two months and she's begun to like it. 
> 
> [Pebble] Believe who you want to believe.

Like the absolute walking catastrophes they are, Sati manages to fall flat on her face twice, Kelaca breaks the latch on her tiny metal box of lyrium (exposing it to their companions), and Hissera lets it slip that none of them have killed anyone before. So while travelling along the Imperial Highway they worry, freak-out, and then confuse their more experienced companions by giving weird answers to questions about their battle-history.

“I mean, I’ve gotten in fights before, yeah,” Kelaca admits to her much more furious, younger years, from before she mellowed out and made good friends. Before she became a tiny dwarf, too. “Never lost a fist-fight in my memory.”

“I don’t want to rain on your parade Magpie,” Varric begins, walking on the road behind her, “-and correct me if I’m wrong, but your memory has some fairly large gaps.”

“Oh,” she frowns, kicking a pebble and watching it soar over their path as she trudges on. “Shit you’re right.”

“I don’t think you’ve lost any of them too badly,” Hissera snorts and brushes an escaped curl of black hair out of her face, “You’re not dead, after all.” The braids have already held for longer than she would have expected considering the conditions, but in the course of travelling, it just isn’t all that feasible to rebraid the entire mass. That task would need to wait at least until they settled at a camp, probably the one by Lake Luthias, because rivers might not do the trick for bathing. 

Her elven friend giggles, “Not every fight ends with a death.”

“Oh? How do you know that, Sati?”

“Well I’ve fought people before,” the shapeshifter says, thinking of her larping sessions with fake weapons and pretend-magic. “No one ever died. I didn’t win in close quarters, but at range I did pretty well.” She’s even fired a bow plenty of times, but those arrows were weighted oddly with cushions so they didn’t hurt anyone… unless they got shot in the junk.

Hissera rolls her eyes and waves one of her hands, the metal cover on her leather bracer catching the sunlight, “That was what, three years ago? You’re not a fighter.”

Unable to prove otherwise, Satina nods, sighing playfully, “Not all of us can floor people twice our size, ‘Era.”

Varric chimes in again, the most chatty and curious, “Twice her size? So Songbird has taken giants in a brawl?” Hissera isn’t exactly a small figure, especially not to a dwarf. 

“You heard me,” Sati says simply.

“I’ve offered to teach you,” the qunari reminds her, “-you kept putting it off.”

They veer right at a fork in the road, following a sign declaring the city of _Redcliffe_ not too many miles off. They’ve all been making good progress, better than they expected, but their feet feel a growing ache with each hour spent on unpaved roads. 

Casandra looks back over her shoulder at the otherworlders every now and then, her dark eyes difficult to read when they’re kept narrowed for any sign of bandits or refugees. Varric makes a passing comment about her furrowed brow getting stuck in place, and the woman makes a classic noise of disgust, “I am concerned for our safety. By traveling in a smaller group, we are less conspicuous-”  
Three feminine faces swivel around to give her a look, psychically asking if two dwarves, two elves, a Seeker, and a hornless qunari look at all _inconspicuous._  
“-but we are in greater danger of highwaymen. They are likely taking advantage of the helpless refugees in this region and growing bolder.”

“A sign back there _did_ warn us,” Sati hums, wondering if luck is on their side or not. In the first game, they could be ambushed by darkspawn and such, but there wasn’t any trouble with traveling in the third. 

Extremely aware that they’re no longer in the safety net of a game’s rules, Hissera sighs and shifts her staff off her back and into her hands, “We’re about to deal with crazy mages _and_ rogue templars, I think bandits are the least of our worries.” All the same, she’s on guard and ready for reality to flip them the bird again.

“Hopefully they're taking the day off,” Varric quips, brushing his fingertips over the feathered tails of bolts in his waist-level quiver. He’s just as keen-eyed as Cassandra, but less obvious and even cracking a smile from time to time when he gets the brooding bald elf to join him in a little banter.

Their collective spirits just begin to wane before they round a bend of trees and see a massive keep in the distance, towering amongst the hills at the edge of Lake Calenhad and surrounded by high walls of stone. Their first landmark, and a sign that the Crossroads isn’t horrifically far away anymore.

From staring at the War Table map for hours (waiting and waaaaiting for timers to tick down on missions) Sati they ought to enter the Hinterlands from the west- as _Haven_ is to the west of that region. She even voiced such a thought to Leliana the day before they left, but the Bard insisted crossing through the mountains in a straight line would delay their party by a day or two. Taking the highway and going around to Redcliffe first is significantly faster, and the path on from there curls around the eastern side of the Hinterlands, near to the Crossroads village. 

_“You are from across the Waking Sea, like your friends, yes?” Leliana questioned the meek Herald, a dagger shifting between her gloved fingers._

_“Ye-Yeah,” stuttering immediately, Sati scratched at her marked cheek before turning her gaze back down to the war map. “I’ve never been to this area before, I sort of forget we’re in a mountain range.”_

A bit of a dork, the elf was grateful to finally have a solid reason for _why the fuck_ the game’s protagonist starts on the _far_ side of the first zone, because that oddity had driven her nuts. Sure, she embarrassed herself to ask about it, but she was satisfied to know more about the situation. Curious and unwilling to go throughout life totally confused, Sati’s more than willing to fess up her lack of understanding or knowledge to feel more comfortable. 

Hissera was clever enough to purchase a few _Dragon Age_ books, including the table top manual, which came with a map. She’d already figured out a couple of things about the roads and landmarks from giving it a quick study, back when she was still planning to be their group’s Dungeon Master. Then they met Myth… somehow, and it didn’t matter so much anymore. She presently wishes she could pull up the wiki on her phone and brush up on lore and walkthroughs, but should she ever need to ask questions, she won’t be out of place for asking anything too specific. Until then, she’ll fake it, no problem.

Kelaca really, really doesn’t know much at all; luckily, being an amnesiac casteless dwarf remains an _awesome_ cover. So far, she’s liked learning about all the shiny places and people and shit, but it’s so shockingly different from _home_ that she’s still reeling about the Chantry “need-to-know” lesson the scary nun-sister-spymaster gave her. A matriarchal religion worshipping a lady martyr and her god-husband? Cool, but then why the fuck was Roderick getting any sway where it counted?

Everyone keeps their own priorities and questions to themselves while they march, until the dwarven girl spots the gated keep steadily getting closer and points to it, hopping up and down, “We’re almost there right?! Almost done walking?” She’s nearly pleading to the rest of the party, her short legs having had to make twice (maybe thrice) the number of steps as them.

Raising an eyebrow at their templar’s companion, Solas shakes his head, “I believe that is simply Redcliff, home to the rebel mages. We have a ways yet.”

Kelaca lets out a _very_ dignified whine, _“How much longer?”_

“What? Are your tiny legs getting tired? Do you need a piggy back ride?” Hissera teases her, and expects the narrowed glare of amethyst eyes that tries to pierce her back.

“Bitch.” 

Grinning from ear to ear, the giantess replies, _“Yup.”_

Not an hour later, long after they pass the waffle-patterned portcullis of Redcliffe’s entrance only to get shooed away by guards expecting refugees, they reach the tail end of a branching dirt and pebble path leading into the hills. As they walk, they’re all on the lookout for any figure in Inquisition colours, foggy green and humble brown, as Leliana sent word ahead of their arrival and none of the party has a clue where her spies- sorry, _scouts_ set up camp.

Varric calls out a mutually-shared thought, “So where are we going now?” Then because Thedas has quite a sense of humour, just as the otherworlders and their companions hit a point of frustration, a young man emerges from the trees a couple yards down their path. He’s clearly a scout, in familiar-styled leathers and fabrics and the (what has to be regulation) shawl some of the rogues use for a hood, but _where the fuck did he come from?!_

The man jogs up, waving a gloved hand to follow his lead, “We’re based just this way, Sers.” 

“Lead the way,” Hissera nods to him, though she gives way to paranoia and grips her staff more tightly, grateful for the leather cuff Harrit had carefully attached to protect the skin of her palms. Her occasional vain streak peeks its head up at the mere thought of calluses; certainly, it’s more comfortable and practical to clutch leather than raw wood, but she’s more motivated by the desire to keep her hands soft and smooth, if possible. Plus, splinters are a bitch to remove.

Unoffended, the scout guides them off the beaten track and into a patch of wilderness, around some trees and clusters of elfroot, while his steps are unnaturally silent. The party isn’t so graceful or quiet, and Cassandra nearly headbutts a grazing ram when they turn around a bend of foliage. The animal runs off, bleating, Varric does little to disguise a cough of laughter. 

The ensuing short trek uphill and through and untamed thicket of trees is somehow a lot less easy than their many miles of marching on a dirt road. Even the dignified Seeker grumbles under her breath, worn and unhappy, until they crest the hill and find several large tents and tables set up in a small clearing. It’s a spot well-protected from any accidental discovery, as is ideal to a batch of rogues for a base of operations.

_“Finally,”_ she mutters through her teeth, her thick accent granting a flair of intimidation to her relief. 

Kelaca laughs breathlessly, almost wheezing until the party comes to a true stop for the first time since dawn. Her knees wobble and she bends over, bracing herself on her thighs, “I officially-” she giggles, peeking up at her two friends, “-_hate_ the Hinterlands.”

Sati snorts, smiling widely at the chance for a break, “We just _got here_, Kels.”

“And?” The tiny templar challenges, righting herself just as another female dwarf approaches their group, clad in scout armor and wearing her auburn hair back in a tight bun.

Hissera subtly bites her fist to keep in a squeal of utter delight, and the fangirling swiftly spreads to her elven friend. She and Sati both _try_ to contain prolific levels of excitement, because _there_ stands the fandom’s favorite semi-romanceable lady dwarf, Scout Lace Harding herself. Attempting an air of dignified coolness the internally squeeing fangirls butt shoulders in order to be the first to introduce themselves. The short rogue woman turns upon hearing their quiet bickering, and her eyes immediately dart to the faintly sparking, green _mess_ on Satina’s hand. 

“The Herald of Andraste,” she says, and her voice is so nice and perfect and just like their memory of it. “I’ve heard the stories, everyone has. We know what you did at the breach.” Harding, having obviously addressed the elf, leaves the qunari woman trying to soothe her new heartbreak by taking the chance to study the freckles and dirt on the wonderful scout’s face. 

“I-I’m uh, I’m glad,” smooth like fucking gravel, Sati replies, “Wait- stories _plural?”_

Harding quirks a half-smile and shrugs, but lifts her head high to complete what she probably hopes is a good first impression on her part, “It’s odd for a group like yours to care what happens to anyone else, but you’ll get no back-talk here. That’s a promise. Inquisition Scout Harding at your service. I, and all of us here, will do anything to help.”

“Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?” Everyone’s _other favorite_ dwarven rogue sets up an indulgent joke, the one with glorious chest hair, a beautiful crossbow, and overall Thedas’ greatest gift to DA protagonists.

“I can’t say I have. Why?” The question is obvious in Harding’s lilting voice, and it makes Varric falter.

“You’d be _Harding in High_\- no, nevermind,” he chuckles and shakes his head. Thankfully, no one notices the taller otherworlder women almost squeal with excitement while Cassandra releases her trademark noise of disdain. With a nudge from Hissera, Sati quickly remembers she’s meant to say something back to their lead scout, and fumbles for something friendly but not too friendly, because they’re technically strangers.

“I’m glad to meet you!” The exuberant elf chirps, reaching up to fluff her own short hair, “Also, thank you for helping.”

Confused and a little flattered, the scout’s eyebrows come together and she steers everyone to more important matters, “Well, we should probably get to business, the situation’s pretty dire.” She drifts off, her gaze sweeping around the camp, before she continues, “We came here to secure horses from Redcliffe’s old Horsemaster. I grew up here and people always said Dennet’s herds were the strongest and the fastest this side of the Frostbacks.”

Kelaca whistles, surprised to hear that someone that good isn’t working for nobility, and begins to hope that like her, ‘Dennet’ isn’t a fan of rich pricks. Harding seems like an adorable bamf and by the bow strapped to her back, it’s pretty obvious she knows how to use it. _Dragon Age_ really seemed to like dwarven archers, who knew?

Harding goes on unfettered, straightening her shoulders, “But with the Mage-Templar fighting getting worse we couldn’t get to him. Maker only knows if he’s still alive. Mother Giselle is at the Crossroads, helping refugees and the wounded, and reports say that the war could spread there too.”

At that, Cassandra’s brow furrows and she asks, “Is it truly that widespread?”

The scout nods, frowning when she offers an explanation, “This isn’t the real war here, these mages aren’t with the Rebels, they’re just lashing out and destroying everything they find. The Templars here aren’t with their Order, either, and they aren’t attacking mages alone.”

“So the Hinterlands is full of rampaging, bloodthirsty murderers?” Kelaca asks dryly, already feeling pretty pissed off by the idea of a bunch of innocent people getting caught in the crossfire of fuckers who broke off from their noble groups to do awful shit unsupervised.

Harding nods again, but adds, “And bears, can’t forget those guys.”  
The words _‘why’d you add bears to that list’_ is on her lips, but before Kelaca can speak, Hissera sighs and steps forward, simultaneously looking commanding and super bored.

“What are we doing for the people here?”

“Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can, but they won’t be able to hold out for long,” Harding answers the qunari woman without even flinching at the sheer difference in size between them. “After you eat something and get settled, you’d best get going sooner rather than later. No time to lose, after all.”

**-|- Quests Accepted -|-**

Hissera adjusts one of the packs on her shoulder for emphasis, declaring a sensible plan of action, “First thing’s first, we should drop off anything we don’t need here. We can come get it later, once we’ve assessed the situation in the Crossroads.” _No way in hell is she bringing her gear into that dumpster-fire._

“I stopped listening after she said ‘eat something,’” Kelaca says, grinning in an obviously cheeky manner to dissuade the tall mage from burning her alive in retaliation for a bit of snark.

_“Yeah, that's a surprise.”_

Without an _immediate_ need to rush down to the Crossroads, they were allowed to claim a tent for their purposes if they pleased, and so they did, leaving the majority of their packs in one that appeared to be solely in use for storage. It was planned back in Haven that their party would avoid sleeping anywhere outside of an Inquisition camp, and while that meant on occasion they might have to do some back-tracking to rest, it was reasonable, and would ease the otherworlders into an adventuring life. No one needed to know the three of them weren’t already aware of what traveling would entail, because to a certain extent, they do _know_ just how bad it can be.  
They just… haven’t necessarily experienced it themselves.

Cassandra decides that the sleeping rolls, spare clothes, pairs of cloaks (one oiled against rain, the other thick for the cold winter nights), extra parchment for raven messages, and cooking equipment can be left behind- at least for this first trip. The Crossroads isn’t far from their camp, and the Hinterlands, though quite messy and confusing (and riddled with angry things), isn’t the _most_ expansive region in Thedas. Possibly the easiest to get lost or turned around in, but not the largest.

What they keep with them is assigned by logical convenience and not necessarily by logical intelligence, because everyone has to carry _something._ Even their beleaguered Herald, who would complain in a manner of offended squeaking unless she got to be included in equipment distribution. So while naturally, everyone carries their own health potions and weapons, Satina’s given the group’s rations, bandages, maps, and a rudimentary compass all together in a brown leather backpack with flaps and buckles. Thedas doesn’t have zippers, unfortunately, but the aesthetics of fantasy equipment sort of make up for that.

With some reluctance, everyone _also_ allowed her to carry the party’s supply of Regeneration potions, five small cylindrical vials of shiny orange liquid tucked into stitched loops on her fabric belt. A sixth vial sits beside them, the mystery red potion Sati had when she first awoke in Thedas; it apparently survived all the chaos of taking on the Breach, but she wasn’t ready to drink it yet because Mythal had done _enough_ weird shit to her lately. Hissera keeps a few of her own potions on her leather belt, four vials of glowing blue lyrium-infused stuff, which only she and Solas were willing to use.

_Back in Haven, in the privacy of their cabin, Satina took one look at Adan’s new creation and wrinkled her nose. Drinking Titan’s blood? “No thank you.” She had plenty of weird blood in her already._

_“Meh, suit yourself.” Her qunari friend shrugged, prepared to accept more power from almost anywhere. She wouldn’t take risky demon-deals, and she wasn’t interested in cutting herself open for blood magic just to get stronger- but expanding her mana pool, albeit temporarily, for drinking a giant rock-person’s old crystal blood? Sure, why not._

The three otherworlders agreed beforehand that Hissera’s in charge of their coin purse for the foreseeable future, and therefore responsible for looting people for coins and deciding whether or not anyone can buy things. However, that took almost a whole fucking hour to be settled on, only because Kelaca didn’t like being limited to ‘everything else that man, beast, or monster has for you to take’ for her ridiculous kleptomaniac-hoarding instincts.

_“Literally anything else under the fucking sun, Kels, just let me take care of the money so it doesn’t get mixed in with all the weird shit you collect,” Hissera growled to her shorter companion, annoyed that the dwarf wouldn’t stop whining about their arrangement._

_“Can’t I at least have my own bag of my own money?” Kelaca asked, still prodding despite the dark glare sent her way._

_Done with the templar’s shit, the tallest mage put her foot down, “No. Group funds, bitch.”_

_“Sharing is caring!” Sati piped up nearby, trying to shove her bedroll into a sack without it being properly folded._

Eventually Kelaca agreed to let Hissera play Banker, though that was once she was reminded that whoever held their money would have to handle the hard work of tracking and managing their expenses. Satina had wanted her own funds too, but she knew it was for the best that someone be in charge of it, and it really shouldn’t be herself.  
The three of them can’t be in perfect sync every hour of every day, but none of them are ever so unreasonable they won’t accept a compromise for the sake of harmony and mutually-assured sanity. 

After everyone scarfs down a modest lunch at camp and Scout Harding offers the party her knowledge of the creatures and people that roam the Hinterlands, their beautiful, badass, and intelligent qunari leader asserts her dominance over her reckless friends by practicing sheathing and unsheathing movements with the thin blades tucked into her new bracers. Along with the Thedas-natives of their party, Hissera’s already prepared, maintaining hold of her position as the first of their trio to get ready for anything, so she rolls her eyes, judging the two smaller otherworlders as they pat themselves down outside the supply tent and double-check they have all their tools. 

Unsurprisingly, the two dwarven girls immediately bonded over some kind of mutual appreciation for ‘mayhem’, so much that Harding gifts Kelaca a single smoke bomb for a combat-based emergency. With a grateful, almost-worryingly excited smile, the curly-haired templar carefully hooks it onto the lower left side of her criss-crossing chest straps. The straps have at least a half-dozen pouches and pockets of different shapes, materials, and sizes all meant to carry her weird loot, and her tin lyrium-rock box is safely secured to her right hip. Since they got to their base camp, Kelaca was strictly warned not to lose the apparent _power source_ of her templar abilities, and to _stop showing it to people_\- easier said than done when lyrium was really, really pretty and scaring other people was funnier than it should be. Along with her templar status, her epic drakestone sword and the x-shaped ammo belts she’s wearing contrast with her otherwise disarming appearance. Honestly though, she’s starting to warm up to her new look, all round cheeks, bright eyes, and an unexpected agent of vigilante justice.

Their unlucky elf, meanwhile, takes ages to account for her shiny new throwing-knives; eight in total, six of iron, and two of drakestone for tougher foes. Most of the lighter iron blades are safely tucked in sheaths on her belt alongside the pair of shiny red ones, but for backup, Sati hid one in each of her boots. Quite fairly, she’s a little paranoid she’ll lose them all, and she’s struggling with herself to accept the idea that she might not be able to recover one of them after a battle. Her obsessive compulsive disorder is just going to have to ring alarm bells in her head until she figures out magic and can quit relying on physical weapons. _Ugh_, was Solas not an encouraging teacher! For all he talked shit about the Dalish not being open to instruction and knowledge, he kind of sucked at sharing it without his face getting all judgemental and patronizing.

Bored with practicing motions with her own daggers, Hissera studies her staff’s new upgrades with a measure of appreciation. The grip, thankfully sized for her larger hands, is made of sturdy leather with stitching so nice and uniform that it makes her wonder if Thedas has rudimentary sewing machines. Flipping the staff upside down, the newly crafted onyx blade catches the light, and she muses that the black _metal_ (not a fragile rock, like back home) is fairly attractive. The short spike of a staff-blade makes her the only member of their group to wield the toughest starting material, though not for any reason other than practicality. When planning the finer points of her equipment with Harrit at Haven’s forge, she mentioned her habit of using her staff like a walking stick… and from there it was best decided she had the most durable blade she could. The sharpness of drakestone (and its blood-red colour) was appealing, but honestly, she didn’t care what was on the end of her weapon as long as it did the fucking job. 

When she’s done inspecting her main weapon too, Hissera turns her head around and watches the dwarven girls regroup and start talking about the hills, forests, lakes, trees, and ruins spread around the region. Listening in gradually has her groaning in distaste just _thinking_ of all the walking and hiking and searching they’ll do around the Hinterlands. It gives her _genuine dread_; it’ll be so damned annoying to get around until they reach Dennet’s horse farm, and she hopes to the fucking gods above and below that he’ll grant their party more than one beast of burden for travel. Kelaca’s cheerful voice breaks the arcane warrior out of her negative slump, and though she frowns, she’s glad at least _someone_ is excited.

“Soooo… just bears, rams, and nugs? Are there druffalo around here too?” The little templar with snowy hair inquires, snacking on a few nuts from a pouch Meera slipped her that morning.

Harding smiles, seemingly amused, “Only the domesticated kind, for the most part. You know not to mess with the big guys anyway, right?”

“Uh, totally!”

As the two girls go back and forth, Hissera lets her eyes wander again, just in time to catch Sati’s entire body wandering off completely unsupervised.

“What the _fuck_-” Growling, she quickly jogs after her elven friend, unashamed of raising her voice. “Where are you going!” She grabs the smaller girl by the hood of her armor, yanking once just to keep Sati in place. Wide, silver eyes blink up at her angry rust-red ones while their companions start to gather because of the commotion.

“There’s weird whispering!” The shapeshifter squeaks, waving her hand in an arc at the crop of trees ahead of her. Her left ear twitches the slightest bit, leading Hissera to believe the idiot isn’t actually lying.

Still, the qunari woman frowns, “I don’t hear whispering, maybe you just heard something really far away.”

“No! That’s the weird thing, it sounds really close!” Sati insists, her spine tingling and the hair on the back of her neck standing up. There’s no tangible words to make out, but whispers and hissing voices curled and clung to her more with each step she took in the direction she was just heading.

Unimpressed, Hissera releases her near death grip on the elf and gives her a nudge forward, “Alright, let’s check it out. Next time, _don’t try going on your own_." Stakes are _high_ now, and none of them can afford to walk off alone. Especially not Satina, who even before they were all dropped into a dangerous fantasy world, was insatiably curious- occasionally to the point of near _lethal_ stupidity.

The rest of the party, including Scout Harding for the moment, agrees to trail closely behind the otherworldly mages, fully geared and vigilant. All of them are equally as paranoid now that their accident-prone Herald is leading them outside the boundary of their campsite, because they’re already starting to understand that their charges are nexuses of sheer pandemonium. Not even a full minute goes by when Hissera shudders, the hint of a whisper starting to trickle into her ears, quiet and subtle and instantly unpleasant as hell. No one else seems to notice anything amiss, though Solas’ ever expressive eyebrows slide from their spot of elegant poise, almost pressing together with some kind of confusion.

“Okay, now I hear it- I hate it! What on earth is that ungodly hissing?!” The giantess exclaims, “I feel like it’s boring a hole into my fucking skull.” A headache is already building up at the walls of Hissera’s mind, the inconsistent but constant noise gradually permeating her rationality; it could drive her _crazy_ if she had to listen to it for long.

“What’re you talking about, Songbird?” Varric asks, drawing his iconic crossbow into his arms. It hasn’t escaped his notice that only the party’s _mages_ are acting funny. “I don’t hear anything.” 

“Me neither!” Kelaca adds, alert and looking at the surrounding foliage with suspicion. Beside her, Cassandra halts in her tracks, her dark eyes narrowing as a subtle aura of bluish light sparks up and clings to her armored frame. 

_“Hissing?”_ She repeats Hissera’s comment, long and well-trained Seeker instincts reacting to key phrases and signals. “It could be demons, perhaps a rift is not far.”

Solas’ face twists up slightly, and using his wisest (possibly least humble) tone of voice, he suggests, “Unless the scouts are completely incompetent, it seems unlikely they would not have found a rift near camp.”

“Nah, not a rift,” Sati mumbles, and she turns her head towards Hissera, a question in her eyes, _“Could it be…?”_

“Mmmm, we’ll see,” the larger mage responds, digging in her brain for map-markers and struggling under the barrage of ugly whispering shit. _Was one really this close to the first camp?_

Not a moment later, a short clearing appears in front of the adventurers, complete with a perilous drop-off mere feet ahead. Near the crumbling cliff edge is a simple wooden post, and atop it sits a blackened human skill, the empty sockets glowing an eerie blue. It’s simultaneously unassuming and horrifying, to the unprepared members of the party, at least.

As Casandra, Solas, and Varric quickly discuss the obvious danger such an ominous artifact poses, they miss the dark-haired Herald walk up to the skull, pick it up in her bare hands and press it eye-to-eye right against her face.

“Ooh,” she says, “I can see out the back of it.”

Cassandra rushes to Sati’s side, distress in her otherwise harsh voice, “Herald! You should not-”

“Let me look!” Kelaca chirps, interrupting the guardian Seeker with her bubbling interest. Hissera didn’t stop Sati, so it must be something from the game that’s safe enough to play with.

Still holding it against her eye like a fucked-up spyglass, the shapeshifter coos and dismisses her dwarven friend, “Noooo, I’m looking for something!” The whispering is oddly muffled while staring into it, which she immensely appreciates, and she almost forgets that the skull once belonged to a poor Tranquil mage. 

“Sati,” Hissera whistles sharply, making the girl pop back from the ocularum. “Give the glowing skull to our magical _expert_.”

Knowing Hissera’s narcissistic ways, eyes wide and doe-like, Satina holds the macabre object out to the qunari woman, but Solas shuffles forward half a step and raises a hand, “Perhaps I should inspect it first.” His cold blue eyes glance towards Hissera, and he adds, “I mean no offense, but I have an affinity for identifying the nature of enchantments and curses.”

“Please! Take it away,” Hissera mutters, shooing the skull away, pretty averse to the thought of touching the potentially bug infested object.

“You think that thing is cursed?” Kelaca asks Solas, pouting a little because she hasn’t been handed the first odd magical-thingy they’ve come across.

Varric laughs, incredulous, “You think it isn’t, Magpie? Look at it!”

She does, and honestly loses a little of her initial awe, recalling a couple of D&D objects a hell of a lot weirder and creepier than a whispering, spooky bit of (human?) remains. Her head turns back to her fellow dwarf, a bit of boredom in her purple eyes, _“And?”_

Varric shakes his head with a sigh, moving to rest his crossbow on one arm and rub at his temple with a free hand, “And here I thought dwarves had the best sense of self-preservation.”

_“Pffft!”_

As the little templar continues to perplex the party’s only rogue, Cassandra instructs Harding to have her scouts be on the lookout for any more skull-fixtures like this one. The lead scout slips off back to camp, and the Seeker turns around to see Hissera reluctantly holding the artifact high above the elven Herald’s head.

“But I wanna look through it!” Sati squeaks, jumping up and failing to reach the qunari woman’s prize.

“You’d walk right off the cliff with your face against this thing and you know it!” Hissera warns her shorter friend, successfully dissauding the energetic idiot as Satina backs off with a whine.

Cassandra sighs, deeply, because with every passing hour accompanying the trio of strange girls she very nearly begins questioning the Maker’s judgement- for having sent _them_ in their hour of need. She looks to Solas, their intelligent elven apostate, and the two share a brief kinship in the strain in their stare before her voice cuts over the childish play before them. 

_“What have you discovered about this, Solas?”_

Half an hour after “learning” about the ocularum’s properties, the whole squad begins to ready for their journey down to the Crossroads. They opt to leave the skull behind in camp, because even though they could use it on the go for locating shards, the mages grew sick of its endless noise _real fucking fast._

The otherworlders feel a mounting urgency to move on coming from their companions, most specifically _Cassandra_, so they might avoid more curious distractions and possible dangers. Consequently, once they all grab up their supplies they all head off down the nearby hillside as instructed by their scouts. Along the way, they find small wooden signs along the road directing them to their final destination, the Crossroads.  
As expected by Hissera and Sati, when their party approaches the outskirts of the village, they're greeted by the sound of clashing blades, screams of pain, and roaring fire.

Cassandra pulls her shield from her back, holding it in front of her as they charge down a path surrounded by rock walls and right off to battle. Everything opens up and they see scattered burning and bloody corpses, wearing either mages robes, civilian clothing, or the leather uniforms of the scouts that were sent out mere hours ago. Three still live, huddling behind a boulder near to the main village road, crouching and holding still as warriors bearing the insignia of the Templar Order stalk around the other side- swords dripping with red and armor scorched.

The vagrant templars (four of them, at least) hear the rushing party arrive and raise their weapons. One, faceless beneath a winged metal helmet, lights up with lyrium and gives his shoulders a readying roll.

Hopelessly, the Seeker calls out with her powerful _listen to me or else_ voice, “Halt! I am Seeker Cassandra Pentagast! I order you to lay down your arms and surrender to the Inquisition’s forces.”

A sneer crosses over the shadowed lips of the leading aberrant-Templar before he gestures his fellows forward in a charge towards the jinxed party. The thud of metal boots on gravel and packed earth rattles the otherworlders’ ears as they prepare themselves for the oncoming struggle. Each of them notes in the slow-motion of chaos about to be unleashed, that the bloodthirsty templars march over and _on_ corpses like they’re nothing more than dirt.

It’s a blessing really, that their first brush against mortal enemies gives them such a clear moral standing. They are not facing good men or lost warriors, they’re taking on scum.

Sati audibly growls at the enemy like an enraged bunny rabbit, thrusting her hands out before her, sending out a gush of water from her palms. Not what she _wanted_ to happen, but the ‘attack’ still hits all the templars in the face and covers the ground between their two groups.

Without hesitation, Hissera stoops to the now-sodden earth with manic glee in her eyes, and pressing her hands onto the ground she thinks one word- _‘Freeze.’_  
Ice rapidly spreads out from the qunari woman’s palms, crawling its way underneath the boots of the murderous holy warriors, and all four slip and fall, asses hitting the ground one by one in a cacophony of clanging metal limbs. It’s _beautiful_, really.

Raising her hands up in the air, Hissera shouts triumphantly at her success before one prone templar unleashes _something_ and a massive wave of dizziness hits her body. She crumples to the ground, legs weak, with a bitter groan of nausea. Kelaca watches in shock as Sati tips over and hits the dirt within the same moment, but the resonating grunt of pain tells her that her elven friend isn’t out-cold this time. Even the other elven spellcaster, Sol-ass, wobbles on his feet just after extending his staff to trap the fallen templars with another layer of ice. He remains standing in a position far in the rear though, glancing at the other mages with surprising concern and unsurprising disappointment.

Jerking her face towards her foes, the snowy haired dwarf sees the bad men are literally trapped, sitting ducks, and grins with feral satisfaction. Blade ready, Kelaca switches into her barbarian-style _rage mode_ and charges on the slick ground, her forward momentum acting to propel her towards her nearest foe.

Varric’s bolts streak ahead of his fellow dwarf, driving under the frame of his targets’ helms and into eyes, throats, and other unarmored gaps. The rogue himself stands guard over the two felled mages, quickly joined by the trio of rescued scouts that take their window to put space between them and the rogue-templars that outmatch their skills.

Cassandra quickly gets over any shock that she may have had over the blatant disregard of her declaration, though it burns her that men that might once have been subordinates of hers could ignore her title and purpose so easily. Scout Harding had been honest, the templars in this region are not with the Order. That realization gives her the drive to wade into the fray of battle with her righteous fury. Her superior prowess immediately shows itself when she uses her shield to collide with one of her former brothers in arms and swiftly ends their one-sided fight with a precise slash of her sword.

As the only conscious (and capable) mage, Solas casts a barrier over the party’s warriors before lobbing balls of exploding ice with another swing of his staff. Newly arriving templars are showered in a rain of frozen shards, slowing them as the Herald’s puddle starts to melt in the sun. Still, their enemies are no match for the skill and energy of the Inquisition’s _Seal-the-Breach Team Six_, and templar blood stains the earth in a matter of minutes.

Once the last foe is dispatched, reduced to a corpse sliding off Kelaca’s blade to slump on the ground, they’re all breathing hard and thankfully uninjured. The dwarf herself rounds to look for her fallen friends who appear to be slowly and groggily picking themselves off from the ground, though otherwise no worse for wear.

“So, that was a smite I take it?” The giantess asks, leaning on her staff and brushing the excess dirt from her clothes with her free hand. That one templar must have done it, because something put her out of action without even _touching_ her, and _Dragon Age_’s smite was an AOE. It was pretty fucking annoying that it hit _that hard_; the spell she cast to freeze the ground hadn’t taken much of her mana at all, so she was fine one second, fucked the next.

“It felt awful, worse than this thing,” the slighter elven girl whines, lifting up her marked hand that buzzes uncomfortably. She easily chooses to stay lying flat on their path until somebody decides to help her up, because her brain feels like a puddle of jello.

“Mhm…” Hissera agrees, still raising herself to her feet. “Not pleasant in the least, though the effects don’t seem to last long?”

Solas, who was the farthest from the templar’s range and therefore far less affected by his smite, looks practically unruffled and kindly assists the ‘Herald’ in recovering. “Perhaps,” he begins, “-you may wish to remain at a distance when your enemies can counter magic.” Despite the condescending words he chose, his voice is actually patient for once, so Sati nods without any grumpiness.

“Good idea, thank you.”

Kelaca, worry on her face, is a little more mean with her scolding, “Killing the templar who cast the smite _strangely_ seemed to help out.” Her snark comes from a place of affection, and the cold realization that she’s just _killed_ people. Bad people, yeah, but with her sweaty white hair dangling in front of her face and her armor littered with specks and splashes of drying blood, she feels… _stained_, slightly. There’s no guilt, but there’s a heavy discomfort in her gut.

She remembers the popular phrase from fictional stories, _‘You never forget the first time.’_ It seems to ring true, unfortunately. Kels figures that she’ll have to wait to see if Hissera and Sati feel the same way when they take an enemy’s life, since they still haven’t yet.

“Well we can walk, so…” The qunari mage drawls, and the low coyness in her voice has both her friends on alert. “ONWARD!” She shouts out in an almost sing-song tone, making the little dwarf laugh and the elf gasp in exasperation.

“Era- _no!_ Bad Hissera!” Sati snaps, hopping up in an attempt to whack the back of the taller woman’s head. That reference was absolutely frowned upon; Glorion the Knight is a really awful role model she will _not_ let her friends admire or emulate. Snickering, Hissera ignores the bouncing shapeshifter and sashays off with her headache finally waning, ignoring the worried looks of the rest of their party.

Minutes later, once Kelaca finished her round of looting the dead, the bloodspattered party wanders into the village aptly known as ‘The Crossroads’ and a surviving scout approaches their battleworn group with his arm in a rudimentary sling. “Mother Giselle awaits the Herald over by the infirmary,” the man says, gesturing towards the outdoor deck covered in cots and bustling healers.

“Shall we, my dear?” Hissera offers an arm to the often oblivious elven girl.

Satina gives her a mild scoff in response, “I can do it all by myself.” She resists the urge to stick her tongue out, summoning her composure instead as she scampers off towards the expecting Chantry Mother without her friends. Despite seeming like a constant, utter trainwreck of propriety and dignity, she’s always excelled at behaving well in formal situations- relying of course, upon her wanting to put in the effort.

Left in her wake, Hissera rolls her eyes and looks back to the scout, asking plainly, “Where’s Corporal Vale?”

In the ‘infirmary’ area, just a space around some huts laid with basic cots, open to the elements, the clumsy shapeshifter stops near the lady with the largest hat, waiting patiently until the correctly-identified character finishes soothing an injured man afraid of magic. 

“Are you Mother Giselle?” Sati begins by way of greeting, ready to make a good first impression on at least _somebody_ in Thedas.

With a careful pause the dark skinned woman turns, her brow raising faintly, “I am. You would be?”

“Satina, I’m here with the Inquisition,” she gestures to her companions off a few yards back, where a few watch and the rest clean their weapons of spilt blood. Smoothly, she raises up her glowing palm, her voice quiet and collected, “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Ah, the Herald,” Mother Giselle comments, instantly straightening her posture a small degree and appraising the elf before her in a new light. “Yes, I wished to speak to you about contacting my fellows in the Chantry.”

“You truly think that would be a good idea? They aren’t particularly fond of me as of now, and they’re looking for someone to blame.” _It’s_ kind of _a good idea, but not because the Chantry plays nice._

“Our power comes from our unified voice,” the religious woman is hardly phased by skepticism, likely used to facing it, the age she is. Mother Giselle is older and more wrinkled than she appeared in the game, but not as much as Divine Justinia had been. “Speak to them all and you sow doubt with some, removing that power.”

Sati frowns softly, “What makes you believe they won’t call for my immediate execution?”

“Those seeking your death are simply those most in shock from the death of our precious Divine,” Mother Giselle explains, as if the otherworlder hadn’t just mentioned she knows that. The urge to tune out the not-an-NPC-lady-anymore suddenly pops up, but Sati pushes it back and focuses on their conversation that wavers from the game’s base lines. “At a distance you are only a stranger, they can vilify your image because you have none to them. You appear far less the monster that some preach you are.” 

_‘Some’ being Roderick, I guess_, the elf hides her annoyance and nods politely to Mother’s Giselle rather generic wisdom. “I suppose we’ll see soon enough,” Sati says gently, clasping her hands behind her back so she doesn’t fidget, “Now, could you please tell me about what’s going on in this region?”

Meanwhile, the unlucky girl’s companions find themselves speaking with a _Corporal Vale_ about the state of the refugees and their health. Nobody is all that chipper, that state being borderline _FUBAR_ and all.

“So what I’m hearing is blankets within a week for the next round of refugees, food in the next two days or everybody starves, and bandits, mages, and templars are killing everybody everywhere,” Kelaca bluntly states, her hands on her hips and her head tipped waaay back so she can look at the man in charge of dealing with the shitstorm the Hinterlands is in. She is, reasonably, rather unimpressed with the entire situation, given that nobody is really doing anything to fix those problems yet. Sure, in a video game the negligence and lack of NPCs’ independent action was fair- all video games held a protagonist in a suspension of disbelief, but _really?_

The gruff soldier nods his head, “That sums up the situation, I’m hoping you can help.”  
Well, at least he knew what the problems were.

“We couldn’t possibly leave people to starve,” the tiny dwarf responds, shooting a sharp glare in the direction of the qunari woman who looked just about ready to open her mouth with a counter-proposal.

Rolling her eyes with a huff, Hissera steps in confidently, “As my ever so compassionate friend says, it wouldn’t do to have refugees starve on the Inquisition’s watch. We’ll do what we can.”

Satisfied that Hissera would allow them to aid the people of the Hinterlands, Kelaca grins, chirping, ”I suppose we’d best collect Sati and be off then! Murderers to kill, food to find, and a horsemaster to bring back…”

Collecting their marked friend proved to be an entertaining task in and of itself, finding her lingering about a firepit between a few of the villagers, her eyes wide and a kindly, older elven woman asking delicately if the girl was lost.

_“Ahh…_ Oh!” Sati spies the approach of her companions and smiles, “No, they found me.”

Hissera shakes her head, muffling her snickers quite poorly, “What are you doing _all the way over here?”_ They’d caught sight of her shiny armor on a completely different terrace than Mother Giselle had been on, and in the opposite direction of the open roads of the village- where Sati had last seen the rest of the party.

Turning red to the tips of her ears, the elf scampers up and scratches at her cheek, “Well I went somewhere I thought you’d find me.” When even Kelaca giggles then, Sati squeaks, “Hey- it worked!”

“Yes yes, dear,” Hissera drawls, smirking behind her hand, “-like a child lost in a market you found the nearest nice adult, and looked for help.” She really had lost track of Satina in a grocery store about a year ago, so this wasn’t a _surprise_, it was just funny, and a little pitiful.

“I didn’t get _lost_-” Their unlucky friend protests quickly, embarrassed, “I knew where _I was_, I just didn’t know where _you were_ in relation to that!”

"Sounds believable."

With even the amnesiac ladies making a point of the situation, Cassandra verbalizes that someone should be accompanying the ‘Herald’ at all times in the future, and Solas volunteers for the role pretty immediately. Sati’s fire snuffs out and she shares a petulant look with Hissera, who returns it with a snide smirk of amusement. She has faith that the shapeshifter can resist any Dread Wolf influence and avoid spilling their big ol' secrets, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pebble] So this will update at least once a month, as my new goal, and I'll try to actually post on a Wednesday! I hope everyone stays safe at home and takes good care of themselves!! 
> 
> Also, PSA: Don't stick a magical glowy skull to your face, it's probably not clean if it's been in the wilderness for who-knows-how-long.


	14. The Trouble with Wolves (Are we in over our heads yet?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Pebble] We liiiiiiive! Quarantine sucks, man.  
[Enigma] . . .  
[Pebble] Hey, look! It's the 1 Year Anniversary of the first Chapter being published!! *u* 
> 
> ... Yes, Enigma caught me in the act of trying to write a 30k chapter and forced me to break it into chunks so the fic could actually update. Whoops!

Satina’s protests are silenced by the time their party leaves the shelter of the Crossroads village. The otherworlders trade playful blows along the way; at Sati for being defenseless; at Kels for struggling to hike uphill; then at Hissera for being just as flawed as the rest of the mortals around her.

“Say what you want, ‘Era, but _you_ were the one who carried us up that mountain, you thought it was a good idea to look at the Temple in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t recall either of you disagreeing with me.”

“We were shitfaced!”

“So was I!”

Cassandra releases a baleful sigh through her teeth, turning to warn the chattering trio, “There is danger ahead of us, it will require _all of your focus_.” That of course gets their attention, though with mixed reactions.

_Oh we’re in trooouble…_ The tiny templar.  
_Her accent is so pretty._ The airy shapeshifter.  
_The Hinterlands suck ass._ The astute arcane warrior.

Hissera remembers the valley of fire, blood, and steel they’re about to walk through, and consequently how the recurring combat within it only eases up once the Templar and Mage strongholds are defeated. Their party is _way_ too small a force to pull off something like that now, and it isn’t really a priority (_horses_ are priority; horses make traveling better, even though they’re unfavourably large animals), but she longs for the power to snap her fingers and clear out the baddies’ nests before they walk into the fray. Unlike a certain someone, she’s not dumb enough to ask Mythal for a fucking boon though.

Their passage opens up to an oddly beautiful scene of carnage, finding an entire hamlet of farms and houses wrecked and ablaze. In the distance, a half-ruined keep built into a lone mountain is clearly occupied and sentried by dangerous-looking people in sparkling armor, go figure. _Maybe we can get around that? _A glance at her companions shows they’re all thinking something similar, and Cassandra gestures off to the left to have them skirt around the side of the valley.

As could be expected though, as soon as they step off in the general direction of their destination, they’re hit by wave after wave of angry bastards slinging fireballs or swinging swords and axes, and some of them wearing armor better than their own- that bunch including the ‘bandits’ that temporarily slipped Hissera’s memory. 

Bad shit’s crawling all over the entire valley, and all three factions (mages, templars, mercenaries) are acting like it’s competition to destroy everything they find. The corpses of innocents and combatants yet to be burned away are stacked on roadsides next to giant spikes of ice, and vast lakes of puddles cover where bountiful crops once were; the rest trampled or scorched. Some places seem to have been intentionally pillaged, which irks the more justice-aligned members of the party, namely the dwarves and their Seeker, and the pool of mercy they carried swiftly dries up. 

Battle is unavoidable, and each round encourages them to move further away from the hills and into open areas. 

A scout later relays to her fellow agents that she witnessed an inspiring sight; the six of them standing amongst the destruction as sunlight reflected off the water and ice around them, their armor scratched and blood-spattered. They were all ready for a fight, challenging the stragglers of madmen and bastards to come up and take them on.

“You should’ve seen it,” Evelyn Trevelyan, a dark-skinned, runaway noblewoman threads her bowstring and shakes her head. Still awed by the powerful vision of the Maidens of Andraste, she speaks almost reverently, “The Seeker took a blow meant for the Herald!”

_Satina let out a gasp of horror when a mercenary’s warhammer came down on Cassandra, for an instant believing the woman was about to die right before her eyes- but then the warrior pushed back, knocking the man off his feet. Cassandra caught the attack with her shield, and though she tensed with pain, she stood tall and cut down her staggered foe without hesitation._

_“You could’ve been-” The shapeshifter began to speak, shock causing her voice to tremble._

_“I’m fine. You are our only hope of closing the Breach,” the Seeker swiftly interrupted her, turning around and flicking her sword to clear some of the blood off of it. “My life matters less in the face of our doom. Is that understood?”_

_Satina swallowed, and nodded once._

Ellana Lavellan, a short and spritely Dalish elf, kicks her feet from her perch on a mossy boulder when she asks, “How did the little templar fair? She was so friendly!”

“That one saved the elven apostate from what looked like a smite!”

_Kelaca could see it coming; stuck between a fence covered in ice jutting out like stakes and a house on fire, Solas couldn’t back away as a rogue templar began to glow with energy. The dwarf ran, tackling the taller figure with her entire weight, and they both fell, rolling in the grass and dirt and throwing fists. She lost track of her sword and the human templar lost their helmet (her helmet, apparently, as a woman’s face glared down at the dwarf), and grunted when one hit landed on her side, the force enough to knock out her breath even through her armor._

_With renewed anger, Kelaca sent her dominant fist swinging in fast and nailed the woman right in the side of her jaw, an audible crack ringing out and making her spit out some teeth. The sight made the shorter warrior feel sick, but she didn't waste time. She heaved herself up and rolled them both over, putting herself on top. In a swift motion, she grabbed the dagger from her belt and slashed it over the rogue templar’s neck, well before the woman could recover from Kelaca’s violent punch._

_With a chance to catch her breath at last, Kelaca stared at a pair of bright brown eyes until life faded from them, and promptly leaned over to the side to vomit into the grass._

Kaaras (who insisted on being called ‘Adaar’), a grey qunari man with daggers at his waist speaks up from his lone position below a shaded tree, “And that qunari, then? She looked menacing.”

From Karaas’ direction, a young dwarven man’s auburn hair catches a hint of the light and shines red as he joins up with the rest of the scouts. Thumb swiping over the casteless mark on his cheek for luck, Edric Cadash pipes up, _“And_ she carried a staff. What could a mage like her do?”

Evelyn wrinkles up her face and turns back to her bow, apparently ashamed of being loud enough for him to hear on his way. Eventually, she summons up the image of what she witnessed, beginning, “She did something strange, all she did was touch a man and then-”

_Hissera grabbed the young blood-soaked mage by his shoulder, and her hand burned with black and amber-hued magic. She looked the man- teenager, really -dead on and saw vile hatred stare back at her. Whether he was born nasty, murderous, and angry, or if he grew into it under constant templar abuse, she didn’t care one bit. He could eat shit and die._

_“Get off me, you bitch!” He screamed at her, baring his teeth in a fierce snarl, even as his fear tinged the air itself with a putrid, sulfurous scent of unchecked magic. Hissera let the mage shove her off and retreat, backpedaling quickly to his three allies, who threw smaller, dangerous spells at her. Each one was absorbed by her Shimmering Shield effect, until it dropped abruptly._

_With the spare mana free, a cruel smirk curled onto her full lips._

_The young killer’s companions barely had the time to notice the glowing rune on his shoulder before his wounds festered at lightning speed, and he burst into a gruesome splatter that blinded and scalded the rest of them with bitter, black acid. Only one was left standing after Hissera’s spell went off due to a crudely-formed barrier, but Varric was quick to strike a bolt in the howling mage; less to put the bastard out of his misery, more to make certain he wouldn’t become an abomination in a desperate ploy for vengeance._

_“Every time I think there’s been enough bloodshed, people like this come along, don’t they?” The rogue asked aloud, his head turning around towards the nearby cottage consumed by a blazing inferno. Four or five corpses, all charred to the bone, laid in the front room, where the roof had collapsed and opened to view before their party arrived._

_Only magical fire could be so powerful, and burn so hot._

_Varric’s jaw tightened, “There’s no excuse for taking shit out on innocent people.”_

_Hissera could argue with his sentiment if she wanted, but tired from her depleted mana, she just replied, “Sometimes, what somebody wants is to watch it all burn.” She herself wasn’t that far gone, but there was little that kept her tethered to a moral compass. Killing off her enemies felt natural to her, and frankly, she felt no guilt or shame from the act._

The talkative scout grimaces at the memory, pushing a gloved hand over her shaved head as she finally finishes, “…I think you’d rather not know, Edric. It was terrifying magic.”

Edric stops in his tracks just partway into their small clearing, but nods and accepts her answer, “Alright. I’m not the best judge on _dangerous magic_-” It all looked pretty nightmarish and uncontrollable to him, “-so I’ll trust your word, Trevelyan.”

Evelyn huffs under her breath, satisfied, but growing cheeky to save face, “This place must be exciting, then?” Her airy Marchers accent makes her seem more dignified than her actions, “Practically a festival of death, with steel and magic as the instruments.”

“That sounded poetic,” Ellana leans over her lap, resting her forearms over her knees. “It really is awful, though. Reminds me of when my Clan fled from the Blight…”

_“The Blight,”_ Edric addresses her over the human archer, “-and you’re old enough to remember that?”

The elven woman nods and sits up completely straight, “I already had my vallaslin by then.”

“How bloody old are you?”

Evelyn chimes in then, “Haven’t you heard it’s rude to ask a woman her age, Edric?” The casteless dwarf scoffs lightly, but Karaas beats him to the punch with a flat statement.

“It’s also rude to interrupt your elders, _Lady_ Trevelyan.” The archer hucks one of her arrows in his direction by hand, dramatically nailing it right into the earth just a yard off from his feet.

Unoffended, the ‘elder’ in question cuts in before the hotheads of her party can start bickering, “I believe I’m thirty-seven. I’m really not so _old_.”

“I’m sorry, you’re _what?”_

“Oh you heard me, quit being so surprised, I told you in Haven that my oldest child is fourteen this Spring.”

“You-” Evelyn falters and lowers her voice considerably, “-you said your oldest _da’len_. I thought that meant brother!” Ellana laughs then, smothering the noise with her hands to keep their presence a little bit secret.

Edric clicks his tongue, “By the Paragons, elf, you’re old enough to be my own mother.”

With that remark in the air, the woman snorts loudly enough for everyone to hear it and her shoulders shake from the strength of her mirth. They, just as the heroic figures facing the hellish trials in the valley below, have been fostering a bond since they first fought together in the wake of the Conclave’s explosion. Mad mages and bloodthirsty templars were different from demons, sure, but fighting for a cause- _hope, peace, sanity, justice_ -felt **right**.

Each battle they survive leaves the squad of otherworlders feeling more invigorated and confident in their newfound skills and weapons, but they take every humility-check in an easy stride. Kelaca catches a nasty burn on her left hand from a hostile mage’s attack, but a health potion fixes her up enough to let her go on fighting. She’s getting more accustomed to her height now than she did from the menial routine back in Haven; something about violence and combat just seemed to teach her more about her new body than everyday business. There’s a subtle ache in her gut from all the death and horror, but it isn’t a kick in the dick every time. She finds it hard to swallow when a young templar falls backwards and pleads for his life before Hissera pierces him in the chest with her staff-blade, gargling on his own blood-- but when Kelaca herself later takes down a mage that nearly struck her qunari friend with lightning, it doesn’t phase her at all. 

Satina’s eyes glaze over when she flicks a knife into a man’s throat, cleverly aiming for the templar glowing the most, which she guesses is the type that likes to smite people the most. It’s a fugue state that can’t last forever, but it’s doing her well enough now. _These are monsters, they’d do awful things to us_, she tells herself when the encounter is finished and she digs her blade out of _its_ neck.

The others, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas, are all considerate and intelligent enough not to broach the subject of how the ladies are faring with all the bloodshed. On occasion, Cassandra advises that the Herald needs to keep her strength lest they discover a rift in their path, and Sati goes through a few short battles nestled between Hissera’s breasts in her nug form, much to her own chagrin. The qunari woman finds this to be hilarious, and is utterly unruffled by her lack of empathy for their foes; it’s plainly obvious to her that they’re in the way, and mean her party harm, so why should it bother her to burn a simpering man to a crisp?

All around them wooden and stone structures burn bright, the scent of smoke heavy in the air, but at the heart of the valley, after a wicked fight with some mages, they find the source of one of the (many, many) glowy lights they viewed from the ocularum back by the ridge camp. 

Diverting from the path they had rigorously followed thus far, the party moves closer to an absolutely blazing home to investigate what might be remaining, and Kelaca spots the crystalline shard amongst the ruins after casting a woeful look at the corpses inside. The dead were avenged, yes, but nothing could take back what they suffered through. The thought sits deep in her gut, making her sick with hatred, so she pushes it further down and forces all her attentions onto the weird little artefact. Clambering over broken bricks and planks, she navigates her way over the outer foundations to the shard’s location, and lifts it triumphantly in the air. 

Varric chuckles at her behavior, just as eager to catch a breath after all the chaos and death they’ve found thus far, and notes, “That could be dangerous, _Magpie_.” 

Kelaca just waves him off, inspecting the strange skull-like carving upon it until Hissera demands it be put away before she gets another migraine. Thankfully, although the rock whispers faintly, it’s well-muffled by the little templar’s bag, so all the mages rest easy once it's out of sight. Cassandra eyes Kelaca’s satchel distastefully all the same, justifiably against collecting and bringing such an ominous artifact along with them.

“Don’t worry,” Sati chirps, attempting to comfort the Nevarran woman, “-it’s harmless.” Or so she thinks. Hopes? 

“I will trust your insight on this,” Cassandra nods lightly, lifting her head a fraction and allowing her composure to harden. She’s taken it upon herself to appear as a pillar of strength for the holy maidens; though reckless and odd they may be, Cassandra is a Seeker of Truth and must perform her duties to defend and advise them however she can. She may not have the best advice, or the most sympathetic demeanor, but she’s hardly lacking in wisdom or forethought.

Satina’s briefly stunned by a show of apparent confidence from a character that she admires, but she quickly turns up her face into a crooked little smile, “Thanks, Lady Cassandra.” Flustered, she scampers back to Hissera’s side, and the Seeker watches on with interest as the golden qunari playfully flicks the elven girl on the forehead, commenting something that her human ears can’t catch.

_There’s an odd innocence to them_, Cassandra decides, watching as her weakest charge lights up a bright red and hits her taller companion on the arm. The peculiar dwarf beside them laughs, and then Cassandra wonders how it is they came to be so close to one another. 

Something to consider another time, though. Their trek isn’t over yet, and more enemies could come to the valley at any moment.

“We must keep moving,” the Seeker’s order reaches the gathered party, and she takes the lead with the dwarven templar once again.

Despite their growing acclimation to fighting, the near constant slog of it all exhausts the party in little more than two hours. As such, their ready strides become heavy trudging when they move on from the main valley, off to the riverstream standing between them and the hills ahead. According to Harding, the Horsemaster’s farmlands should be on just the other side, which rings in a burst of motivation in the otherworlders. Satina and Hissera were worried the Hinterlands would be a lot, lot bigger in reality and take full days to walk through.

The six of them gravitate towards the ruins of the only bridge for miles in either direction, and Hissera lets out a disgusted sigh at the prospect of getting her boots soaked. Her elven friend shucks off her own boots without complaint, tucking them under her arm and standing back up just in time to see Kelaca fix a pleading look up at the giantess.

“Fine,” Hissera barks, agitated with the river and not her companions. “I’ll carry you across, no need to look at me like a kicked puppy, Kels.”

Without further ceremony, the group is soon prepared to cross the clear water, shoes taken off or enchantments cast (_damn superior old elf_), and the snowy-haired dwarf is perched cheerfully on the hornless qunari’s shoulders. The same reticent otherworlder who chose to remove both her socks and boots in order to get across the river with her things as dry as possible.

“Drop my boots and I dunk you… head first,” Hissera warns the smaller girl above her, who dutifully locks them in a tight grip. Seconds into crossing the chilly waters, she releases a scream of bloody murder, reeling back and almost dumping her living cargo into the river before she manages to catch herself.

“What is it?” Cassandra questions with alarm, her dark eyes searching for an imminent threat with rapid turns of her head.

“Something slimy touched my foot!” Hissera shrieks, eyeing the shallow river as if it might come up and bite her.

“Liiiike a fish, ‘Era?” Satina giggles as she scampers across the stones and flowing waters to the far shore. 

“Shut. _Up_,” Hissera growls, her cheeks burning as she slowly moves forward, prodding each step with a toe before fully shifting her weight to a new foot.

Perhaps feeling a little smug that she’s the bravest of her friends at this moment, Sati merrily splashes along the shoreline with her pants rolled up high enough to keep them dry. It’s fun to see the lines of her tattoos on her feet too, over the tops (and not the soles, because _ow, who would want that tattooed?_) with blood-red trident shapes that come down from branches on her legs. Varric and the two more-reserved members of their party make the crossing without any trouble, and as is necessitated by his very being, the rogue crosses his arms and grins.

“So nice to see that Songbird has her moments, for a bit I was worried that she was a Paragon of maturity.” That little comment makes the elven ‘Herald’ snort and stumble, wherein Cassandra immediately shepherds her onto dry land for her safety.

Hissera groans in dismay again, irritation lining her tone as she snarks back at the ginger dwarf, “I can hear you from here, Tethras!” Her tediously slow crossing soon comes to an end, Kelaca caught and deposited onto the ground, where she quickly turns away from her qunari friend to hide her own suppressed snickering. Luckily for the short templar, Hissera chooses to look ahead of their position to the lands beyond and quickly finds a new part of the wilderness to bitch about.

“Nooooooooooo,” her protest rings out as she spots the marshy land where the Inquisition’s next Campsite is to be settled. “Not more water! I can’t take it.”

“I like the way mud squishes, it’s not so bad,” Sati chirps.

“Hush you,” the qunari snaps, crossing her arms defensively, “I don’t like nature, never have, never will. Especially squishy nature.”

Cassandra then turns her attention once more to the no-nonsense apostate nearby, ignoring the rest of the party (read; _idiots_) surrounding her, “Solas, would you fire the signal for the scouts?”

“Of course,” he responds with a respectful nod, reaching a hand up towards the sky and firing a bolt of green magic into the air, easily viewable from the clifface the Inquisition was currently based on. After a moment of observing the effect, Solas looks back to the misfits closeby, “Shall we continue to Master Dennet’s lands? It should be only the next rise, if Scout Harding’s information is reliable.”

_Hey_, Satina thinks with a quirked brow, _I heard that judge-y undertone_. She wishes (just a little) that she could project her thoughts at the elvhen man, knowing he deserves all the sass she and her friends can muster. For the time being, Solas is in denial, slash possibly-unaware that everybody in Thedas is just as sentient as he is, _and_ is still guilty of some high-class idiocy. _When Coryphyeus dangles me like a ragdoll, I’ll be blaming you, buddy._

Alas, her petulant thoughts remain private, and once everyone has their shoes back on the party moves onward once more, sticking to the driest paths and dirt ‘roads’ that lead to and through a cluster of farmhomes. Kelaca spies the horses, at least a fucking _hundred_ in a fenced field beyond the largest (and slightly elevated) home, and makes a pretty good guess that the quest-NPC lives there. She’s right, too, though Hissera and Satina are a little more surprised by the shitload of horses the game didn’t show- and with fair reason, it wasn’t needed then. Securing mounts for the Inquisition as a whole was mostly flavour-text for checking boxes of resources, if somebody wanted the good and successful kind of epilogue. 

Which now, the two women are quite positive they not only want but _need_.

“Never going to get used to this,” Hissera mumbles to her elven friend once Varric pulls their other sharp-eared apostate into a conversation. Her vague gesture at the massive, expanded fields gets her message across well enough.

“Me neither,” Sati admits in return, wondering briefly if Skyhold is going to be bigger or different at all. That’s ages away from warranting real consideration though, assuming both that they make it that far and Solas is actually on their side. Part of her knows she ought to drop her half-hearted offense against him, but another knows that by getting genuinely close to him that one day he’ll fuck off to destroy the world and that would hurt her feelings. From staring at the side of his head, her eyes catch his for a moment, and she jumps, surprised to see him looking back at her and Hissera, but then she catches the tail-end of Varric’s latest comment.

“Well I didn’t know you were an optimist, Chuckles! Or you’re just confident, I suppose…” The rogue slips his crossbow onto his back, positive they won’t all be attacked in the final stretch to the Horsemaster’s doorstep. 

Solas is quick to respond, “In a manner of speaking, I am both.” He’s getting a bit better at his hermit-like mannerisms, but still speaks too eloquently for his supposed background. It would be more suspicious if he switched it up now though, so bully for him. “If the other mages here are willing to endure additional lessons, I believe they can become somewhat proficient with their natural affinities.”

_Well, there’s an in, I guess._  
Sati clears her throat softly and grabs her opposite arm from behind her back, looking off to the farmhouses as the party keeps moving, “I would be grateful for more lessons, Solas.” Doing her best to sound neutral and polite, she hopes it’ll be easier to relax around the ancient elf over time. Sooner rather than later, preferably. 

Packed dirt crunches and dust flutters about as the six walk the most trafficked part of the lands’ roads, and they walk along to a short hill with a large, barn-like home made up of surprisingly nice shades of brown. The creaking of a windmill and distant clamoring of horses offer a peaceful ambience compared to the screaming, roaring of fire, and clashing of steel back on the battlefields. It’s not the first time the otherworlders have been to a farm, but this one is old school; no tractors (a few plows, sure), no trucks, no sprinklers, and no industrial lights in any of the visible barns. The labour required for feeding all the mounts and livestock has to be _immense_, and a few sympathetically recognize that none of the farmers need the added stress of fearing some group of maniacs might come without warning to their homes and raze it all to ashes.

The mage-templar violence is sitting with each of the three girls, though for different reasons, but they independently recognize that the conflict is undeniably going to spread if nobody tries to stop it. 

_They’re just… farmers, they’re fucked if those guys out there come along._  
Kelaca’s stomach roils again, and she lifts her head while they march along, taking note of all the people she spots working and minding their business peacefully.

_It’s so fucking annoying. All of this started because Templars decided to be larger fuckheads than usual and cede from the Chantry because they couldn’t tolerate their precious prisoners leaving their tender care._ Hissera releases a sigh out from her teeth, more aware of the clusterfucked nightmare surrounding it than any of her friends- probably more than anyone in all of Thedas.

_The Inquisition will have to be enough_, Satina thinks, _we have a lot more than the Breach to take care of in the long run._ The elven girl tries to clear her head when they close the distance to the Horsemaster’s home, as ready for their first real quest as she can be.

A good thing, too, as Dennet walks out through the great big front door before their party can cross the last few yards. He’s just as old as he was in game; hair stark white, beard all grizzled, and a couple of liver spots and moles scattered on his dark skin. His accent is also as Sati and Hissera expect, Ferelden through and through.

“Haven’t seen anyone come through that way in a fortnight. You’re a determined lot to walk through that valley,” Dennet announces, followed closely by his wife, whose hair is just as white, but her paler face set in more obvious lines of age.

“Or lucky,” the woman says, folding her hands in front of her as she takes a place standing beside her husband. Her hair is tugged into a plain bun, her clothes dirty, but in a practical way that suggests hard work, and not poverty. 

“Horsemaster Dennet?” Cassandra inquires, and two of the otherworlders remember that they shouldn’t know the man on sight. He nods and crosses his arms, his eyes briefly sticking to the Seeker’s crest on her armor. 

“I hear your Inquisition is looking for mounts.”

“It is,” Hissera decides to take a half-step forward, the most keen to get this done quickly. “Can you help?”

The Horsemaster sighs, shaking his head before offering a mild shrug of his shoulders, “Not at the moment. I can’t just send a hundred of the finest horses in Ferelden down the road like you’d send a letter.” 

“There’s bandits and beasts out in these hills, they’d be waylaid and wind up stolen or dead,” his wife adds, sounding almost regretful. “I’d not see my husband’s charges lost for nothing.”

Dennet smiles at her briefly, then waves an arm at the qunari who set herself apart as a speaker, “You’ll have mounts once I know they won’t end up as a cold winter’s breakfast.”

“Reasonable, Ser, now what can we do to cross this hurdle?” Kelaca chimes in, smothering a cheeky grin for her pun. The Horsemaster looks pleased, probably because he didn’t catch it. “We’re glad to help however we can.”

“Good to hear. Elaina, my wife, she can tell you about the problems we’ve been having with the beasts around here, and in a moment I can take you to Bron. He’s in charge of my guards and he’s got some ideas about bolstering the security around these lands.” Once he gets a nod from Hissera, Dennet turns away and heads back into his house, leaving his wife to handle affairs.

For the next couple minutes, the ’responsible’ qunari mage struggles not to roll her eyes while a peasant woman elaborates on their farms’ recent uptick in wolf-attacks, in grueling detail. The foreknowledge-duo are well aware of the root cause of the problem, and pretty bored with exposition. It’s demonic possession, as Elaina suspects it could be, and therefore it’s no point of concern to either mage girl. Their other task, building the watchtowers, seems more troublesome in comparison to fighting a pack of beasts. 

Hissera _knows_ there must be a more convenient way to get around a wait for three whole ass towers to be constructed from the ground up, and she’d sooner rip out her braids than busy herself in the Hinterlands for _that long_. Moreso, she hates the idea of coming all the way back to this _marsh_ after a trip to Val Royeaux _just_ to recruit the Horsemaster personally. 

“Hm,” Hissera hums, seeming to be listening to Elaina, but boredly looking past the older woman to the hills where an astrarium lies.

Next to the giantess, her elven friend shifts on her feet, thinking something along the same lines of their foreseeable future. Surprisingly, Satina already has a plan for bypassing the wait for towers; unfortunately, she’s pretty sure the execution is going to be nerve-wracking no matter how she goes about it. The Horsemaster’s wife comes near to the end of her story, and dread starts to bubble up in the Herald’s stomach.  
_I hope I can sell this; I kind of look like an idiot, but I know geography. And Things._

Kelaca’s the only otherworlder who actually pays Elaina her full attention, asking questions and wondering what could make a pack of wolves act out and be especially vicious. To the little dwarf, Elaina looks rather worn, and from the farmer’s story, that’s no surprise. 

“I’ve lost too many men to the beasts, I won’t endanger more,” the woman insists, and Kelaca nods respectfully.

“We’ll take care of it today, you said they’re worse at night, after all.” That immediately appears to give Elaina some relief, which makes Kelaca smile in turn. Considering that their group made it this far, the Horemaster’s wife must believe their party can manage it. 

_Farmers aren’t fighters_, Kelaca muses to herself. She doesn’t feel particularly superior to the commonfolk of Thedas, she herself was just a college student before all this. All four of the otherworlders, Julia included, were students in different majors brought together by a shared love for nerdy shit. Of the bunch, Hissera was the only one with anything even resembling combat-experience; Kelaca previously had the advantage of her size on hand but was presently lacking in that department, Satina only ever participated in pretend-violence, and Julia was a programmer who got along fine with most people. 

-  
\--

_Julia is nothing if not creative, imaginative, and terrifyingly genius. A hailstorm of meteors come at his call from beyond the Veil, roaring down and smashing the bandits that dared to step ahead of his path. Why let anyone take care of a fight for him, when he could hone his new arcane talents, and experiment a little?_

_A smirk finds its way to his lips and he casually removes his glasses to wipe the dust clean, the smoldering remains of his enemies lying amongst a circular field of rubble. Once he puts them back on, he gestures to the men behind him to clear their path, his mana in the process of regenerating. Idly, he wonders what it will take to expand the pool as quickly as possible…_

_There’s a lot to plan for, and a lot to manage already, but Julia feels confident that he’ll reunite with his companions. Together, the three of them will surely be alright-_

_They_ have _to be._

\--  
-

Thinking about her absent friend, Kelaca really wouldn’t be surprised if he already figured out his ‘ult’ ability, because she’s sure they exist. In Haven, Hissera mentioned that a couple abilities in-game took ‘Focus’ and had to be charged up for a powerful, badass effect. Having played a lot of _MMOs_, she’s not a stranger to mechanics like that, and Julia (or rather, Zander) played them too. Kelaca, Hissera, and Satina have always known their fourth friend to be a clever, yet single-minded bastard that often went straight for the big guns and _then_ worked his way to branching out. The dwarf would worry about him more if she weren’t pitying any fools that ran into him with weapons drawn.

Their own quest needs her attention for now, so Kelaca turns to her companions once Elaina retreats to her garden. Wolves sound like they might be tricky to deal with, mostly because they’re going to be faster than she is, and apparently these ones aren’t afraid of jack-shit. Not even fire!

“So,” she begins, “-any advice for how _not_ to become a chew toy?” 

Cassandra nods, “This is where I would recommend a shield for you, or suggest that you learn to block.” The dwarf’s ears turn pink and she looks at her arms, her plate metal armor already scraped and scratched from a near-dozen glancing blows from rogue templars.

“Y-Yeah, I should probably get that figured out,” she admits. Hissera’s hand plops down on Kelaca’s head, ruffling snowy hair to soothe the shorter girl’s concerns.

“I’m sure our fair Seeker won’t mind bashing you into the dirt to get you up to snuff, Kels.” Cassandra almost smiles then, and that’s a damn victory for the day. 

“Indeed.”

When Dennet returns to the party, he’s accompanied by a young woman, lighter skinned than him with all her tiny curls cut in a short afro. He introduces her as his daughter, Seanna, and she eagerly takes stock of every member of the party one-by-one.

“I can set you each up with a good mount.” She says, chipper as she commits all their sizes to memory. “If you give me until the morrow, I’ll have found you solid matches.” She looks notably excited to see such a diverse group of people, which is a weird reaction for pretty much anyone native to Thedas, and by Hissera’s guess it’s because the girl _loves_ riding and racing. Seanna likely hopes to find a competitor in one of them, given the nauseating sparkle in her eyes.

That’s highly unlikely to be the way tomorrow will play out, given the trio’s current track record.

“Sizes I get, but what about our experience? Some of us, might, er-” Kelaca shifts on her feet, “-we might need a horse that’s pretty easy to handle.” She looks up at her elven friend, who catches the glance and has the spirit to be offended.

Satina doesn’t get the chance to say anything, because Seanna laughs in good nature at the dwarf, “Don’t worry little Miss, I can tell by the look of someone if they’re familiar with riding.” Kelaca’s face turns a reddish colour again, but she smiles, comforted to know that at least the Horsemaster’s daughter won’t judge her and her friends for sucking at something.

Dennet backs Seanna’s claim in the gruff, well-meaning way of a lot of fathers, “Better eye than most stablehands. Spends too much time with her tracks and whatnot, but I imagine she can teach you to ride, if need be.” His daughter rolls her eyes, but she smiles and pats the man on his arm before striding away to the nearest enclosure of horses, a spring in her step.

“Has there been any trouble with demons around your lands?” Solas asks Dennet abruptly, speaking up for the first time since their arrival. He offers the Herald beside him a light nudge of his arm against hers, the movement subtle enough to appear incidental. The apostate successfully breaks her out of her planning, and she looks up from her marked palm to the grizzled Horsemaster.

After a brief pause, Dennet nods, “Don’t suppose you can do anything about the rift on the edge of my farms? We can’t get to the east fields ever since it showed up four days back.” 

“Sure thing,” Satina says, clasping her hands behind her back. One her other side, the hornless qunari crosses her arms, looking more reliable by sheer size and the sharpness of her eyes.

“As soon as we settle matters with the head of your guards,” Hissera adds, and takes lead of the party when the Horsemaster guides them a ways back down the hill. 

Everyone manages to cram into the round guardhouse, where the man they assume (and two vaguely recall) to be _Bron_ is hunched over an aged map, flanked by two men in leather armor. The three guards stand at attention respectfully when Dennet introduces the Inquisition’s party, Bron’s face lighting up when he hears about their promise to aid security. When prompted, he divulges the *details but not details okay maybe details* of the situation at hand.

“We’ve had plans for a while now to get some watchtowers around these parts, but we’ve never been able to spare the numbers to scout any suitable places.” He gestures to the scroll laid out in front of him, pinned open with small wooden paperweights carved in the shape of horses. “We’re stretched thin as it is with patrolling, the mad beasts, the _demons_-“ Bron cuts himself off, shaking his head. “With what’s going on around the Crossroads, we need advanced warning if it shifts in our direction.”

“Naturally,” Hissera speaks before Cassandra, narrowly suppressing a more snarky remark. _Surprised you don’t already have defense like that, considering how huge these fucking lands are in reality._

The Seeker follows her lead, professing an eager sense of urgency for the dangers of the mage-templar fighting. “We’ve seen the fighting, all they seek is destruction, without regard for the innocent people of this region.”

Bron gives her words a bit of thought, his face tightening with a serious expression, “Would you be willing to scout some of the surrounding area for fit locations?”

“That shouldn’t be necessary,” Sati pipes up, immediately getting an odd look from the guardsman, and two of her companions. Solas is ready to question the elven Herald, turning on his feet to look at her, but Kelaca beats him to the punch.

“Why not?”

“Well,” the slight girl straightens her posture, “-time is of the essence, isn’t it? The fighting could turn this way at the drop of a hat.”

Bron, thankfully not biased against non-human individuals, gives her a chance to prove her point. “What d’you suggest, then?” 

For a solid moment, Satina hesitates and flicks her gaze down to the map strewn across the table between them, upside-down from her angle. Taking a soft, deep breath, she leans over and gestures at the part closest to her. “One watchtower should go in these hills just north. The land mostly shields you from that side, but you can’t complacently accept that no one will come through those trails, even as narrow as they get. As for the rest,” the shapeshifter leans further across the table, standing up on the pads of her feet to reach the lower half of the map. “We passed by these lands on our way here. What looks best is to put one _here_ to watch the river crossing, and another on the other side of that giant hill for the road south.” 

When Satina leans back, her gut tightens as her eyes finally slide up to the people around her. Beside her, Hissera’s lips curl up in a pleased smirk, watching the guardsman nod in apparent approval. “Would this be satisfactory protection? We can have construction begin as soon as our Commander sends the men,” the qunari offers, fairly sure that Cullen’s eager to send some forces to the Hinterlands anyhow. Dennet’s already smiling, and once he gives a quick nod to Bron, the younger man puts out his arm to shake Hissera’s hand.

“Thank you, Inquisition, we’re lucky you got here first.”

Hissera grins, managing to mask her sarcastic tone with a _barely_ professional comment, “We’re here to serve.”  
_Handle the wolf problem, erect some towers, we’re in business and we can leave this stupid region for good._

Before they all head off to deal with that first issue, Kelaca politely requests a spare shield, and during her wait, she tunes out the rest of the tower planning and wonders if Solas will be morally troubled with fighting wolves. _Is he a shapeshifter? A werewolf? Or, is a giant black wolf just his spirit-animal?_

Just as the dwarf comes to the tail-end of her train of thought, a guard returns and passes off a wooden shield to her arms. Kelaca exhales in relief and tips her head back to look up and give the man a smile. “Thanks,” she says, and he gives her a nod before falling back into conversation with a fellow soldier. The shield’s only three inches thick and wrapped in a plain leather cover (which will absolutely get ruined), but it’s sturdier than she was expecting. Once she has it fully secured on her back, Hissera reminds the rest of the group that they’re burning daylight, so all six of them shuffle out of the hut and back onto the trails through Dennet’s lands.

They head eastward, in the direction of the same river they crossed earlier, but further north where Bron told them it flows down through a winding crevice. Both the rift and the wolves are off this way, and a lost druffalo as well, if memory serves Satina right.

_Not sure if I can rely on that from the game_, she thinks, getting lost in her mental list of the Hinterlands’ quests, until the Anchor tugs her out of it. On approach to a hill topped by a great big, bare willow tree, the shapeshifter gasps abruptly, pain cramping up her hand and forearm from the vibrantly glowing scar. 

_“Ow_-ch,” Satina groans, looking to her companions as she grabs her own wrist to stave off the discomforting pain. “The rift is definitely close.”

Kelaca gives her friend a sympathetic frown, “You think you’re gonna be okay?” This will be the first rift they’ll have faced since the Breach, and sure, Solas said that the mark is stable, but that doesn’t mean that playing with it again will be any good for Sati’s health.

The unlucky Herald nods, shaking out her afflicted arm while the rest of the party readies themselves with weapons; Cassandra knocks her shield into place, Varric primes his crossbow, and Hissera and Solas bring their staves into their hands. Kelaca draws her sword, taking lead with the Seeker until the six of them round a small bend on the hill, where a glittering, sickly green light washes over the grassy earth. A single wraith meanders beside the rift, and the instant their rogue’s bolt slams into its ghostly back, it fizzles and dissipates with a ragged shimmer.

Demonic backup promptly begins to manifest, and the battle kicks off with the armored warriors running in to meet a host of freshly popped enemies- each twisted spirit emerging with a magical burst wherever arcing webs of light meet with the ground. An entire party of ugly terrors (_lesser_, thank Mythal) and a pair of wispy wraiths right themselves _annoyingly_ quickly upon arrival. The latter, more spectral monsters swiftly back off to create some distance between them and the approaching fighters, but luckily their intelligence doesn’t go any farther than that, because they target Cassandra and Kelaca. The wraiths hurl balls of flaming acid at the targets closest to the rift, rather than the weaker party members still a ways off. 

Solas hurries to place protective barriers upon the two women in the fray, narrowly saving them (or at least their armor) from damage, and Hissera wastes no time returning (literal) fire at her least favourite brand of demons. She lands four or five hits, largely in part because wraiths are complete shit at dodging, but their own barriers shimmer into place and the qunari woman growls under her breath. It’ll be an absolute _chore_ to whittle them back to a vulnerable state, and she knows it. 

With the added strike of one of Sati’s knives, they manage it on one of the wraiths, and to finish the job, Solas pitches in by launching a huge spike of ice that rips the demon in two. Hissera’s loath to admit it out loud, but the old bastard’s magic is pretty impressive.

Kelaca wrenches her red blade out through the fleshy side of a terror after she stuck it through its skinny midsection, and immediately transfers her momentum into a ducking roll to her left when another gangly demon sweeps its claws in a vengeful attack. After successfully getting away unscathed, she laughs, covered in her slain enemy’s ashes and rising to her feet. Feeling bold, she begins to swing her sword in a wide arc, hoping to get a powerful hit on the second terror. It’s a risk to leave herself so open, but having a magical barrier makes her feel pretty near _invincible_.

That overconfidence dramatically proves to be her folly when yet _another_ lesser terror smacks her from below, and her little dwarven body is knocked back a full two yards. Kelaca grunts, barely keeping a grip on her weapon, and her barriers fractures apart. Cassandra charges to her side, crouching down and hefting the shorter girl up with her shield arm. 

With only mild frustration in her rich Nevarran accent, the holy warrior deigns to remark, “Perhaps you should practice your defensive abilities _now_, Kelaca.”

“Yeah,” the templar groans and pulls her own shield off her back. Hoping to heal her bruised ego, Kelaca waits beside her comrade as the remaining terrors begin to rush them, _“Let’s clear this bitchfest!”_

Meanwhile, Hissera fairs well on her own because her special brand of magical protection (blessed _shimmering shield_) keeps her guarded enough to make a move without fear of getting suplexed by a lesser terror. With a fierce expression, she cracks her staff against the ground and sends a stream of fireballs off at the remaining wraith, killing it’s barrier in one nasty barrage. Together with Solas’ deadly icicle blasts, they clear the path for Sati to run behind the wall their warriors make and latch on to the rift. Varric watches her back, sticking more bolts into the foul demons whenever they look like they’re going to stray from battling Cassandra and Kelaca.

Once the last foe is taken down, Satina works to seal the rift before any more demons can come out to play, and keeps her left arm braced for the swift game of tug-of-war. She wins fair-and-square, a cheeky smile warming her face when she steps back, glad to feel her palm buzzing, but notably _not_ screaming in pain. A tingling sensation starts to tickle at her extremities, the first sign of low blood-sugar, or maybe just some classic lightheadedness. 

Before she realizes it, a moment has gone by with her standing in place, and Solas is standing in front of her, his hands already raised and glowing a light, pale blue. “Are you feeling alright?” He asks, and she blinks hard to focus on his face.

“I… think so? I may need to catch my breath,” Satina admits, and his brows furrow downward. The ancient elf removes his hands from her personal space, but doesn’t retreat back, still displaying concern for her condition.

“It appears the Mark remains stable,” _no longer growing_, the Herald assumes, “-but it might still be drawing from your energy.”

Sati blinks at him again, “What does that mean?” Solas tilts his head in a partial nod, apparently weighing her question carefully, but he doesn’t make her wait long.

“For the moment, I am not certain. I will have to watch you carefully and keep note of your wellbeing to better understand it.”

_Well_, Satina thinks, turning to look down at the Anchor on her hand, _that’s embarrassing_.

Hissera strolls up the hill, taking a glance along the way to the remnants of their battle and spying Kelaca digging around for loot. Rolling her eyes in good nature, she greets her elven friend with an arm around the slighter girl’s shoulders, and quickly drops an apology for the way Sati practically flinches at their contact.

“So,” the qunari woman begins, “Are you good to go for sealing rifts?”

“For the moment,” Satina repeats after Solas’ comment, “-no idea.”

Hissera frowns, looking as though she’s scowling to anyone who wouldn’t recognize what concern looks like on her face, “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I need to eat something.”

“Then take something out of your backpack and eat,” the giantess gestures lazily with her free hand, her staff gripped tight in the other. Hissera makes sure that her shorter, weaker friend eats an apple down to the core as the party moves back onto the path. Meanwhile, Kelaca swallows down one of her potions and grimaces at the cherry cough-syrup taste, but the relief for her aching body makes it _tolerable_.

Their trail winds off towards the surrounding hills, going from dirt tracks to completely unmarked ground, and eventually sloping down into a surprisingly pretty gorge. Everyone takes a moment to look at the area, spying rocks covered in grass, moss, and dust, and the river burbling and rushing along to the left. Knowing from Elaina that a hunter tracked the wolves’ nest to a place downstream, all six of them rather quickly notice that the only way to follow the river is along the opposite shore, where the cliff face evens out- likely sculpted by years of flooding. Thankfully it can’t be more than ten meters of water across the shallow basin, and the ground before them is made up of softer layers of sediment than the rocky bed back upstream by the ruined bridge. More directly upstream there’s a set of sizable waterfalls, larger in width than height and one pouring right into the other. 

For a moment, Hissera and Satina stare up at the empty space above the pool sitting between the two waterfalls, long enough to draw attention.

“Is something there?” Cassandra asks the pair of them, and the elf turns faster.

“No, not-” Sati brushes her fingers back through her messy hair, looking back at the falls with a frown. “Not really.”

Kelaca thinks back to the days of her friends swapping stories about the Hinterlands, and she firmly remembers the two taller girls bemoaning a ‘goddamn bullshit farm-rift in the ravine, up on the _waterfall'_ on more than one occasion.

“Is this where that _thing_ you complained about it is supposed to be?” The dwarf asks, forgetting briefly to be more subtly secretive.

“What do the three of you know about this place?” The Seeker questions, suspicion immediately coating her sharp tongue.

The elven otherworlder quickly holds up her hands in a defensive, hopefully placating manner, “Nothing, really! I just had a dream last night, I-I didn’t know if it was real.” A complete lie, she desperately prays it’s not obvious- and that it won’t earn her another painful _‘boon’_ from Mythal.

Cassandra’s brows arc down with frustration, “You believed there may be danger ahead, and you did not consider to warn any of us?” It sounds more like an accusation than a question, and it makes Satina flinch instinctively.

Hissera gets between the two women smaller than herself, her own voice firm with warning, “Relax. No one said anything about ‘danger,’ and she told _me_. We had no idea there would be waterfalls like this here, since we’ve never _been_ to the Hinterlands before.” A lot more true, but she's far from in the right mood to deal with another set of fade dwellers. “Why mention anything if _we_ didn’t know it was coming up?”

Feeling the need to step in before anybody starts getting pissed off, Varric gestures over to the rushing waters, “Hey! Good news, there’s nothing there.” Still, ever since he saw Sprout get antsy and zone out at the waterfalls, he’d knocked one of his explosive bolts into Bianca’s chamber. Cautious instincts like his were a hard-earned investment, and paid well throughout his whole life. Whatever Sprout thought would be here, he knew wasn’t good.

Cassandra begins to back down, but she raises up a hand and points at Satina, advising without room to wiggle, “From now on you will _inform_ us of _any vision_, no matter how mundane.”

The elf girl nods quickly, feeling guilty despite knowing she hadn’t actually slipped up as the Seeker believes, “I-I will, I promise.” She’s only just realizing that she hasn’t made an effort to make the holy warrior trust her yet, and boy does she need to fix that. Hissera’s warm hand smooths down the unruly tufts of Sati’s hair, and it’s enough to anchor her down and stay focused.

_“Ugh_,” the giantess groans, “-another fucking river.”

It’s mid-crossing that their storytelling rogue gives in to his curiosity, asking, “So, what _did_ you think would be here?”

While staring down at her own feet to avoid any sharp rocks, Satina chirps, “Well, a rift.”

Varric sputters, nearly stumbling and tipping over into the river, “What, in the water?”

With helpful intentions yet being unhelpful in practice, Solas at last speaks on the matter, “There is no reason a tear in the Veil could not appear where material things already are. They could be below ground, wrapped around a tree, or perhaps high up in the sky like the Breach.” The apostate doesn’t utter a complaint about crossing the river in his footwraps, which (nearly) the whole party wonders how he can handle wearing while running through the rocky-ass Hinterlands.

“Yeah,” the dwarf returns, rather unenthusiastic, “-how likely is _that?”_

“Less so than for one to be in this ravine, Master Tethras.”

Sarcasm practically drips from Varric’s next reply, “Well, there’s that to be thankful for, isn’t there?” Kelaca lets out a snort from atop Hissera’s shoulders, the qunari making quicker progress this time to lessen the length of her trip through the accursed, slimy waters. 

“I don’t think we should be thankful when _that one_ shows up,” Hissera snips, the sharpness of her tone fueled by her physical discomfort. 

“Greater terrors, and despair demons, both of which are highly mobile and would be a huuuge pain to fight amidst _this_ area,” Satina backs up her friend and explains her reasoning, gesturing off to the waterfalls for emphasis. She reaches the opposite shore and plops down to tug her socks and boots back on, noticing from her low angle that Solas’s footwraps don’t even look soaked through. Her brow furrows curiously, but she can guess they’re enchanted fabric; if they protect his exposed toes and heels though, she isn’t sure. _I doubt it_, the shapeshifter muses, almost missing his prompted question.

“You recognize such demons by sight?”

“I’ve learned a lot about them.”

Solas offers a hand to help her stand, “Are you from a Circle in Tevinter? It seems unlikely, with your lack of training.”

“No,” Satina shakes her head and lets him hoist her up, “-but I was able to read many books.” She feels oddly pleased at making her own version of the ancient elf’s trademark excuse, _‘I saw it in the Fade.’_ She’ll probably regret it if anyone asks for details, though.

“I see.” Solas leaves it at that, but she imagines they’ll speak again later. _Later_ means more time for her to fabricate a story to keep the Dread Wolf at bay, so that’s good. 

Hissera reaches the shore only a moment later, groaning in relief as she dumps her dwarven friend down next to her. 

“What pisses me off most,” the qunari huffs, “-is that we’ll have to come _back_ this way.” Even Cassandra sighs at that, apparently bothered by the chore of it more than the water itself, and whatever lies within it.

Varric however, cheerfully turns the switch that causes Bianca’s wings to unfold and go taut, and offers the otherworlder a sympathetic word, “Well, these wolves ought to help blow off some steam, right, Songbird?”

The giantess nods, considering the idea and finding it suitably satisfying.

Half an hour later, after clambering up and down the boulders marking the edge of the sloping and cascading riverbank and finally finding the damn quest-spot, Hissera’s holding back a snarling, rabid beast with her staff alone wedged between its open jaws. Less stressed, she is utterly _not_.

_“Fuck!”_ She shouts, trying to shove the creature back as two of its packmates swarm around her. The wolves’ den was cramped and full of too many giant pillars that led to everyone splitting up, practically _herded_ by the possessed beasts.

Kelaca, forced to defend Solas with their backs to a corner, hears her friend’s cry and charges into the closet wolf with an enraged yell. “‘Era! _Son of a bitch-!”_ Though she sends her target a ways back, and it slumps over unconscious, she’s immediately beset by two more of the furry bastards.

The apostate launches a spike of ice at one of the wolves, but the templar can’t thank him, too busy trying to keep the other wolf from circling around her shield. After this, she’s definitely getting a bigger one.

Similarly, Cassandra is left to defend Satina from danger, the holy warrior bringing up her Guard and commanding the shapeshifter to stay back. The elven girl flinches, but obeys, not daring to launch a knife past her protector without fear of friendly fire. Cassandra faces a worse foe than any wolf, up against the Lesser Terror demon (the one who screamed upon their arrival and drove all the wolves into a mad frenzy) and in _cramped_ quarters, at that. The human doesn’t have an ounce of fear in her stance as she swings her blade and deflects each swipe of its gnarled, skinny claws.

Hissera’s call of distress is only answered when a valiant rogue appears in a swirl of smoke from a path to her right, tossing caltrops in a field before whistling for her attention. Varric fires a bolt into the side of the braced wolf’s head, killing it instantly and giving her a chance to sprint his way. She leaps high over the traps he laid, pivoting fast and unleashing a burst of targeted fireballs to the other wolves.

“Alright,” Varric says to her under his breath, and Hissera looks down at the man curiously. “I might’ve been wrong about how easy this would be.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I think we both were,” she agrees, underlining her mental note to ‘never expect an encounter’s difficulty to be scripted’ and getting her ass in gear for the next attack.

Around the other side of a significantly thick column of stone, Cassandra’s strength wanes when the demon unleashes a piercing cry. The Seeker is stunned, her grasp on equilibrium unravelling fast while her pulse roars in her eardrums. As the woman’s world turns and she drops to a knee, the elf behind her raises up her hands and grits her teeth.

Satina’s willpower proves strong enough to form a spear of silver light four feet above the Terror’s head, and it strikes down, piercing it through the back and forcing it to bow- pinned in place and screeching uselessly. She breathes a soft puff of relief at her successful attack, her heart still pounding as the demon continues to live despite being run through.

_ **Radiant Strike** _

With a smaller effect than the last time (by a considerable margin), the shapeshifter doesn’t pass out immediately, even when she maintains it. The spell buys the time Cassandra needs to recover, and she doesn’t waste her opening to cut off the demon’s head. The rest of the terror’s body erupts in ethereal flames, burning away to nothingness. 

The Seeker turns, addressing her charge, “That spell again, how did you learn it?”

“It-” _nope, different subject_, “-Are you alright, Cassandra?” Anxiously, Sati takes a step back, “I’m sorry, you s-said not to do anything, but…”

Cassandra frowns, lines marring the tanned skin of her forehead, “I did not say you couldn’t assist, but you are not suited for close-combat. A demon like that has long reach and an unpredictable ferocity, I believe it safest for you to remain at a distance.”

Relaxing a bit, the elven girl sheepishly rubs her arm, “Oh…” _Doubt. Doubt. Doubt. It’s fine, it’s all fine._

Off behind her, running at full sprint, Kelaca comes barreling around the corner with wolf’s blood on her armor and her face scrunched up with equal parts anger and fear.

“Is everyone okay?!”

Cassandra replies first, “We have not seen-” Taking that as all she needs, Kelaca runs past them, ignoring her surroundings as tunnel vision kicks in and she weaves through the den until the scent of smoke reaches her nose. 

_“‘Era!”_ She shouts, skidding around a corner and nearly stumbling right into a pile of caltrops.

“Shit!” Varric lowers his crossbow quickly, and halfway through warning her, the giantess beside him leaps over the field of traps again. Hissera lands near her dwarven friend, who swiftly jumps up into her open arms. Catching the shorter girl in a hug, Hissera unleashes a scream of frustration into Kelaca’s wild curls.

“Fuck the Hinterlands, fuck these wolves- I’ll fuck Fen’Harel if I _never_ have to deal with this shit again!” 

Kelaca shakes, laughing into her friend’s armored bosom, her adrenaline still rocketed high for fear of what could’ve happened to Hissera. The golden mage’s cry of alarm plays a loop in her head, a warning that triggered the fierce aggression of her youth, which she always worked to suppress. 

“Fucking hells,” the dwarven girl mumbles, hugging her larger friend tightly, “-I’m glad you’re alright.”

Hissera lets out a sigh, “About that…” Suddenly alert, Kelaca squirms until she’s dropped onto her feet, and instantly begins searching her companion for injuries. She finds blood oozing from deep gouges around Hissera’s elbow, in the tell-tale, circular pattern of a bite mark. “The rabid mongrel got me when I tried to block right here,” the qunari explains herself, patting down the unmarred bracer on her forearm. “It would have hurt anyway, but I misjudged where it was going to land.”

“Fuck!” Kelaca sympathizes immediately, “How did you get it to let go?”

“Well, like this-” Hissera swings her elbow out towards the column of stone to her right, miming the act of slamming a wolf into the wall. “It was _not_ deterred, that demon _really_ fucked them all up.”

“No kidding,” Varric finally chimes in, in the middle of collecting salvageable bolts from the corpses of beasts and caltrops off the ground around them. “Can somebody remind me why I left Kirkwall?”

Hissera props her uninjured arm on her hip, “If I’m guessing correctly, Cassandra kidnapped you?”

“Ah!” He snaps his fingers, laughing humorlessly, “That’s right.”

Unaware of the woes of the more… colourful half of their party, the Seeker and the elves stand around the still-standing spear stuck in the ground, the former asking the most knowledgeable of the latter about the nature of the spell.

“I have seen magic like this before, but I admit it isn’t my field of specialty,” Solas crosses his arms in part, one forearm raised so he can touch his chin thoughtfully. “Light magic is rarely used offensively- for blinding an opponent, surely, but shaping a weapon… the application is rudimentray, but I cannot dismiss it’s apparent effectiveness.”

“I… Does that mean it’s good?” Satina asks him, feeling lost.

His posture relaxes, “In a manner of speaking. There are far better spells and elements to use in battle, but I believe you were quite resourceful with your limited ability.”

_I am not feeling complimented at all right now._  
“Agh, thanks…” She winces, and the magic fades out, leaving a scorched mark where it was stuck in the ground.

The party reconverges then, Hissera tossing an empty potion bottle off over her shoulder and letting it shatter, marching up with the two dwarves flanking her. 

“Are we finally done here?” 

Cassandra nods stiffly, “I believe the threat has been dealt with. We can return to the farm, I imagine our scouts have begun assembling camp by this time.”

Kelaca grins, “We can tell Elaina the problem’s over!” Getting thanks sounds a lot more fulfilling now than it ever felt from NPCs in a game; they actually made a life-or-death difference for these people, and it feels pretty damn sweet to know it.

“Indeed,” the Seeker says, her brows lifting slightly, once more surprised by the dwarf’s genuine enthusiasm.

Taking the time to study the scene between them all, Hissera notices something poking out of the pile of (likely demon) ashes on the ground. Her own, more wolfish grin spreads on her face and she bends down to retrieve the loose item, her fingers curling around a leather cord. She pulls up a wooden token, carved in the likeness of a sitting wolf, from a side-profile.

_“Token of the Packmaster_,” Hissera declares, possibly against her better judgement, but she can’t resist a chance to show off. “It’s protected, wolves won’t attack someone wearing it- my guess is that that asshole demon got its claws on this, and the wolves were screwed.”

“A sound estimate,” Solas replies as she stands back to her full height, and her red gaze briefly flicks to him with reasonable irritation.

“Obviously,” Hissera comments as she reaches out to drop the amulet in Satina’s hands. “Here, you need all the protection you can get.” _Especially from the Dread Wolf_, her mind adds, watching her elven friend pull the necklace over her head.

The wooden token softly clinks against the metal chestplate atop Sati’s leather armor while they exit the wolves' den, which earns an occasional glance from one of her companions. The noise eventually fades out of their attention, and instead they take notice when it stops before she ducks down some rocks and collects a handful of spindleweed.

Kelaca looks over with a pout, knowing that she has no practical use for something with that kind of enchantment, but she’s feeling an ever-increasing desire to collect weird shit. When the shapeshifter stands and catches her stare, the dwarf bemoans, “I don’t even want it but _I do_…”

Her fellow otherworlders laugh, and Hissera dismisses the complaint, “You’ll find more magical things to play with. Like runes, or enchanted rings.” The qunari woman can’t see why she wouldn’t be able to wear ten of those now, rather than the measly one-per-hand limit of the game. It made sense for balancing shit out, but who could give a damn about that now?

One the way back, just before they’re ready to cross the river, the ‘path’ that leads up and over the rocks behind them echoes with a beastly chuff, and the Seeker readies her shield.

“Uhhh,” Kelaca quickly wields her own, asking, “What was _that?”_

Hissera shrugs her shoulders as her stance widens out, aggravated from having a foot already in the riverbed, “Another wolf?”

“That was a little deep for a wolf,” Varric supplies his take, looking just as worn out as the warriors.

“Waaaait a second…” Satina starts ambling up the hill, away from the river, and Cassandra hurriedly follows after.

_“Herald, remain back until we understand-!”_

The elf suddenly lets out a squeal of delight, as a big lumbering druffalo appears at the crest of the hill, wearing an old grey ribbon to mark its domestic status. Kelaca gasps in wonder just after, hastily scrambling off to stand beside the Seeker and her friend. 

“Holy shit!” Her purple eyes sweep up to the taller women, and she asks, with genuine sincerity, “Can I ride it?” Cassandra just grunts, frustrated, and sheathes her sword before backing off to the river again.

At the sight of it all, Hissera nearly chokes on a laugh, turning a dark reddish-gold in the face and bending over to brace her hands on her knees. With the giantess left wheezing, the holy warrior at her capacity for foolishness, and their enigmatic apostate deigning to ignore the situation, Varric sighs in resignation.

“Hate to rain on your enthusiasm, Magpie, but it’s not safe for us dwarves to ride something that _wide.”_

The short templar turns and looks at him over her shoulder, a surprisingly wicked grin on her soft face. Hissera lifts her head just in time for her friend to declare _her_ opinion on the matter.

_“You can mount anything, if you’re brave enough.”_

It’s only thanks to the approaching Seeker’s intervention that Hissera doesn’t fall on her ass into the river, positively howling with laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news, the next chapter is already mostly written! Annnnd there's some for the next after that!  
To celebrate the arbitrary anniversary, here's a terrible edit of a cute Draw The Squad! (awesome original by Hyponell)  



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